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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574299">Across The Hall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CathedralBuiltOfSun/pseuds/CathedralBuiltOfSun'>CathedralBuiltOfSun</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, All The Dimpled Grins, Avengers staring Chapter 13, Avocados at Law, Eventual Brood-Off Between Matt Murdock and Bucky, F/M, Flangst?, Gratuitous Catholic References, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Matt Murdock Has All Kinds of Hangups, Minor Love Triangle, New York's Sneakiest, Riding the Brooding Train All The Way to the End of the Line, Slow Burn, fluff but ALSO ANGST</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:55:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>50,126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25574299</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CathedralBuiltOfSun/pseuds/CathedralBuiltOfSun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You happen to occupy the office across from Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys At Law. Events unfold that entangle you with Avengers and the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Matt Murdock x Reader, very minor Foggy Nelson x Reader. </p><p>Reader gets to live in the Avengers Tower because I never will, and I am a writer, and this is what writers get to do.</p><p>Story begins in summer 2014. AU in terms of the MCU films for every film released after Guardians of the Galaxy. You've been warned.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Matt Murdock/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>84</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>209</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> I tell you it has taken me all my life<br/>
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,<br/>
to soften and blur and finally banish<br/>
the edges you regret I don’t see,<br/>
to learn that the line I called the horizon<br/>
does not exist and sky and water,<br/>
so long apart, are the same state of being. </p>
</div><div class="center">
  <p>Lisel Mueller, “Monet Refuses The Operation”</p>
</div>“Yes, Murdock, this is where it all begins!”<p>The excited voice drifted through your office door, which was open just a crack in an effort to coax an almost-nonexistent breeze through your rooms. You had two rooms - one with a couple of chairs and a desk for when clients came in person, the other with the comfortable, squashy armchair that had been a pain and a half to wedge through your door (but it was worth it in the end). The office wasn’t much, but it was all yours, and that fact pleased you more than it probably had a right to.</p><p>Curious, you took the earbud out of your left ear to get a better sense of the small ruckus currently taking place in the hallway. You heard heavy footsteps and, behind them, an odd tap tap tap noise that you couldn’t quite place. Unfolding yourself from your armchair, you slipped on your flats and went to check it out for yourself.</p><p>When you opened the door, you were greeted with the sight of a slightly red-faced, long-haired blond man attempting to open the door of the office across the way without setting down the bank box of binders he was carrying. Next to him stood a dark-haired man wearing dark glasses and carrying a white cane. Both turned when you opened the door to come out into the hall.</p><p>“Look, Matt, our first day and we’re already disturbing the neighbors.”</p><p>“I would hardly say there was a ‘we’ in this scenario, Foggy."</p><p>The exasperated amusement in their voices seemed to be a familiar tone for both of them. You answered with a grin of your own, sticking out your hand.</p><p>“Nice to meet you, neighbors.”</p><p>The blond one set the box on the floor and shook your hand firmly.</p><p>“Foggy Nelson, and this is Matt Murdock.”</p><p>You nodded and turned to the dark-haired one -- Matt -- hesitantly extending your hand and trying to remember if you’d ever learned how to politely greet a blind person. Foggy sensed your uncertainty and said to Matt,</p><p>“Her hand’s about a foot in front of you, Matt.”</p><p>Matt reached out and grasped your hand with his warm, calloused one.</p><p>“Pleasure to meet you, Miss…?”</p><p>You gave your name.</p><p>Looking around the hallway, you asked,</p><p>“Can I help you move anything in? I’ve been looking for an excuse to stretch my legs.”</p><p>Foggy replied, “No, ma’am! We here at Nelson and Murdock travel lightly, with just the clothes on our backs and nineteen binders of con law notes that someone can’t bear to part with…”</p><p>“Foggy, if you had to take all your notes in Braille, you’d keep them around as well.”</p><p>You laughed. Foggy rolled his eyes and, gesturing to your office, asked,</p><p>“So what do you do?”</p><p>“Copy-editing. Technical documents, mostly, but some marketing and creative writing as well. I presume you do something with law?”</p><p>“We’re starting our own law firm --- criminal defense.” Matt said.</p><p>“Oh, cool. I bet you’ll get some interesting cases in this part of town.”</p><p>“We’re Hell’s Kitchen born and raised, so luckily for us, we’re familiar enough to know what we’re getting ourselves into and stubborn enough to do it anyway,” Foggy chimed in.</p><p>You laughed again and turned to head down the hall, saying,</p><p>“Well, good luck getting settled, and feel free to knock if you need anything. I’m going to grab some coffee.”</p><p>Foggy bent down to pick up the box again and called out a thank you. Matt nodded at you and, in a quiet voice, said,</p><p>“Pleasure to meet you as well.”</p><p>xxx</p><p>Nelson and Murdock quickly became established in the building. They hired an office manager --- Karen, who introduced herself to you when you both arrived at the same time one morning. You brought over some lemon bars you had baked a few weeks after meeting Foggy and Matt the first time, and waved off the effusive praise from Foggy after he tried one.</p><p>“Honestly, all credit has to go to my mom, it’s her recipe. She’ll be thrilled that more people are falling under her baked goods spell. It’s just me in my apartment, so any time I feel like baking, I have to bring three-quarters of them to work to give away to unwitting strangers and floormates.”</p><p>“Well, if your other food is anything like this, consider us always ready to volunteer as unwitting floormates!”</p><p>It soon turned into a comfortable routine --- you saw at least one of the trio once a week or so, asked each other how your respective editing / legal cases were going, caught up on local neighborhood gossip. Well, caught up on gossip with Foggy and Karen, at least. Matt, while perfectly polite in the interaction, seemed uninterested in discussing the latest break-ins in the buildings near the office when you brought it up early on, and you quickly learned to stick with the more straightforward descriptions of whichever technical manual you happened to be working on at the moment. </p><p>He would occasionally let you know that some criminal activity had been concentrating on a particular block or two, and that if you lived anywhere near there, it would probably be best to avoid that area if possible. It was always an offhand comment, but it happened enough times to give you the feeling that he kept pretty close tabs on police reports and the local crime beat. You figured it came with the lawyer territory.</p><p>Spring turned into hot, humid summer, the kind that made you question why you’d ever moved to the East Coast in the first place, and then blessedly slipped into the kind of autumn that reminded you exactly why you did. The blazing blue sky and riot of colors in Central Park as kids ran past in new school uniforms made every July day cursing the heat in the stairs of your sixth-story walkup worth it. </p><p>You were working late one night in September on a particularly tight deadline. Grateful as you were for the hourly rate you could charge the major tech firms you contracted with, the accompanying expectations of turnaround time was occasionally a headache. This particular assignment contained the kind of technical terminology that sent you down rabbit warrens of Wikipedia to ensure accuracy of use. </p><p>You were in hour three of who knew how many more when you heard the familiar sound of Matt’s cane tapping past your office door. He paused and called out your name.</p><p>You shook your head. Despite knowing each other for months at this point, he still called you by your last name. Maybe his parents had drilled that into him. Foggy had mentioned something about him being Catholic --- it would certainly fit into the traditional background hypothesis. Not that you knew anything about Catholicism. The Pacific Northwest you hailed from seemed to have more practicing witches than Christians, and you had been to far more tarot readings than church services. </p><p>You opened the front office door and leaned against the frame. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m still here.”</p><p>He frowned slightly. “Are you heading back home soon?”</p><p>“Maybe? I might just power through these next few pages. Relive the college glory days of coming home from the library at 2 am.”</p><p>His frown deepened. He paused, as if weighing his next words.</p><p>“Are you comfortable walking home alone? I’m happy to join if you would prefer the company.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a pretty good ‘don’t eff with me’ big city face now. I can scowl and everything.”</p><p>He didn’t seem convinced, but also seemed to not want to be perceived as questioning your judgement outright. Nodding slightly, he turned to go back to his office.</p><p>“Well, I’m here if you change your mind. Good luck with the work.”</p><p>“Thanks, I really appreciate it. You should get out of here too.”</p><p>The door clicked softly shut after he went back into his office.</p><p>An hour later, you decided that you really ought to get home. Gathering up your things and double-checking that you had both your mace and your rape whistle, you locked up and made your way down the hall. The light was still on at the offices of Nelson and Murdock.</p><p>You didn’t notice the light turn out as you made your way out of the building, just as you didn’t notice the masked man who tracked your progress from the rooftops as you made your way through the five blocks to the bus stop. He crouched on the very edge of the last building, not moving until the bus with you in the third row had disappeared entirely out of sight.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> You do not have to be good.<br/>
You do not have to walk on your knees<br/>
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.<br/>
You only have to let the soft animal of your body<br/>
love what it loves.<br/>
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.</p>
  <p>- Mary Oliver, "Wild Geese"</p>
</div><p>Matt didn’t exactly know what the hell he was doing. </p><p>He hadn’t meant to have the checking in on you become a regular thing. That one night in September, yes. It had been unusually late for you to be there, and he’d just had a run-in with human traffickers a couple of nights prior. Not that he thought anything would happen to you in that arena. You were presumably college-educated, middle class, and a U.S. citizen, which was an unlikely demographic for modern slavery. But something about the haunted voices of the women he had freed had him thinking about the safety of the people in his life. And, he argued to himself as he crouched on a rooftop, making sure once again that you made it to the bus, he had been checking in on Karen as well. And Claire. And you and Karen and Claire were basically the only women he interacted with on any regular basis. </p><p>Plus, you were from out of town, and it showed in the way you said hello to people on the street and kept your office door cracked sometimes. Matt had no right to tell you to just ignore everyone else like real New Yorkers did, and to triple-bolt and chain your door, because you were a grown adult and he was just the blind lawyer across the hall. But in his experience, people who had that kind of openness had a tendency to get kicked in the teeth by life. And the thought of you brought low, no matter how metaphorically, made his want to punch something until it bled. </p><p>So if he went out of his way sometimes when it came to you, he could convince himself it was because he liked the way you greeted strangers and left your door open, and he could be the one to prevent anything that would change those parts of you. </p><p>None of these internal dialogues prepared him for the night when you’d tilted your head up the building he was currently skulking on and yelled out, “I know you’re there, Zorro!”</p><p> </p><p>xxx</p><p> </p><p>Of course you’d noticed Rooftop Man. Not the first time, and maybe not the next one a few weeks later, but by the fourth or fifth time (over the span of two or three months), you found yourself looking for him whenever you left the office after 7 or 8. It helped that the cold of late autumn had set in. The cloudy vapour of his breath was sometimes just visible.</p><p>Plus, you were from out of town, and that means you were probably one of the few people in the entirety of the five boroughs who looked <em>up</em> at the canyons of buildings.</p><p>You didn’t know what had made you call out that night in particular. You hoped the impulse wouldn’t get in you in the headlines as the latest murder victim of a nutjob. Should have thought of that before yelling out to the New York Ninja. Too late for that now.</p><p>The masked man hadn’t moved. You sighed.</p><p>“Are you going to come down, or what? I really don’t feel like climbing the fire escape.”</p><p>Slowly the man stood up from his crouch and made his way down the metal ladders from three stories up. You pulled your coat more closely around you, still hoping that this hadn’t been a terrible decision. The block was entirely deserted, lit by pools of flickering street lights.</p><p>Finally, he stood in front of you. You took a moment to take in the all-black outfit, the eyeless mask over the top two-thirds of his face, the solid build of muscle under his shirt. </p><p>You decided to start with the obvious.</p><p>“Why are you following me?”</p><p>“I’m not following you.”</p><p>His tone was mild, the timbre deep and steady. You don’t know what you thought ninjas would sound like, but that wasn’t it.</p><p>“So what do you call tailing me from the roof?”</p><p>“I keep an eye on this part of the city. You’re in this part of the city.”</p><p>Silence for a few seconds.</p><p>“How did you come to the conclusion it was safe to talk to me?” he asked suddenly.</p><p>You raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t.”</p><p>His whole body stiffened at that. One of his hands clenched, almost reflexively, before slowly uncurling.</p><p>“So you made yourself known, on an abandoned street after dark, to a man you thought was stalking you?”</p><p>His continued mild tone belied the tension in his body.</p><p>“Okay, first of all, I said ‘following’, not stalking. There is a big difference. Second of all, yeah I made myself known to you. My alternative was pretending I didn’t see you until one of us died, and I’m not one for delaying. You had plenty of chances to do something to me, if you were going to do anything at all, and you didn’t. So now I want to know why you’re following me so we can both get on with our lives. Holding patterns are really not my thing.”</p><p>He shifted his body weight, rocking back slightly on his heels as he weighed your statement.</p><p>“People deserve to walk to the bus stop undisturbed.”</p><p>You shook your head, blowing out an exasperated breath.</p><p>“Okay. Do you do this for all the people in the neighborhood, or just me?”</p><p>“I help where I can.”</p><p>Realizing that you weren’t going to get much out of him, you moved your bag to your other shoulder.</p><p>“Fine. You can do what you want. Just wanted you to know that I knew you were there. See ya, ninja.”</p><p>Without looking back, you made your way to the bus stop, running the last fifty feet to jump on before it left without you.</p><p> </p><p>xxx</p><p> </p><p>You woke up the next day with a weird feeling. It took you a minute, in the gradual shift from dreaming to wakefulness, to remember the brief interaction you’d had with Tall, Dark, and Elusive. You took a long hot shower, hoping to scrub away the off-kilter feeling. It worked, as far as you could tell. </p><p>The morning was uneventful, but right around noon you heard voices softly conferring behind your office front door. Then there was a knock.</p><p>You opened the door to see the cheerful face of Foggy Nelson, with Matt and Karen standing slightly behind him. </p><p>“Hello! The office of Nelson and Murdock recently realized collectively that the simple courtesy of taking our nearest floormate out to lunch when we moved in had been sorely neglected, and we are looking to remedy that in as expedient a manner as possible. Do you have any plans?”</p><p>Twenty minutes later, you were wedged around a tiny table at one of the local Thai restaurants, eating tom yum soup and laughing at Foggy's stories of law school. </p><p>"...and then, and I swear I'm not making this up, Matt trips him with his cane, with the most innocent look on his face."</p><p>Matt waved his chopsticks, shaking his head.</p><p>"Alright, Foggy, I doubt she is that interested in stories about two nerds in school."</p><p>Foggy sat up, a mock look of offense on his face. </p><p>"Nerd?! Speak for yourself, Murdock. While you were nose to the grindstone, I was the man about campus." </p><p>You laughed. "I'm sure you were quite the ladies' man, Foggy. Or man's man. Breaking hearts all over Columbia, right?"</p><p>Foggy smiled, a hint of a blush on his cheekbones, and with the slightest stammer, said "See, she totally gets it."</p><p>Karen rolled her eyes.</p><p>Matt turned to you and said, "Enough about us. Tell us about how you ended up in Hell's Kitchen."</p><p>"Probably the same way a lot of people do. I grew up out in the Northwest --- Oregon --- and decided college was my big chance to see a different part of the country. I got into Barnard, studied English, considered living abroad after graduation, but the city kind of sucked me in, you know? Now when I go back to see my folks, it's too quiet to sleep without the sirens."</p><p>Matt nodded, his attention rapt, like you were the only person in the room. You imagined this was how witnesses on the stand felt. </p><p>"But then of course Big Apple dreams come with Big Apple bills. I was lucky, though. One of the Barnard alums is pretty high up at one of the med tech firms, and she gave me my start in technical editing. I kind of pieced it together from there. Not much leftover at the end of the month, but hey, you're only young once. There's always time to move to Phoenix or wherever and actually own a home." You paused to take a sip of soup. </p><p>"No need to go all the way to Phoenix, that's what Jersey's for." Matt pointed out. </p><p>"True."</p><p>Karen tapped the table. "Oregon? People have told me it's a lot like Vermont."</p><p>"Yeah, Portland definitely has all the same hippies. And the vegan strip clubs."</p><p>Foggy choked on a spring roll. "Excuse me?"</p><p>You grinned. "I always use that one to shock the East Coasters. Although Matt here seems to be taking it in stride."</p><p>Matt passed his hand in front of his glasses. "The main aspect of strip clubs that tend to shock people is for better or worse not available to me."</p><p>Karen wanted to hear more. You dutifully explained, pulling up the relevant articles on your phone. </p><p>Shaking her head, Karen said, "I still don't know if I can get behind the concept."</p><p>A comfortable silence settled over the table. Noticing the time, you reluctantly stood up and fished out some bills from your coat pocket to pay. </p><p>Foggy waved his hand. "Your money's no good here."</p><p>You protested.</p><p>Matt said softly, "We invited you out. And my fellow counselor's behavior occasionally to the contrary, we do know the rules of polite society."</p><p>"Fine. But I'm taking you all out next time. And don't even think of trying to get out of it. I know where you work, esquires. And milady" gesturing magnanimously at Karen. </p><p>"Fair."</p><p> </p><p>xxxxx</p><p> </p><p>"Does she always leave her door open?" asked Foggy.</p><p>Matt shifted at his desk, cracking his neck. Too many hours hunched over case files. He turned to face Foggy, who was standing in the doorway. </p><p>"Does who always leave her door open?" </p><p>"Our neighbor. Her door is always cracked."</p><p>"And?"</p><p>"And nothing. It's just that no one else in the building does that. It's these keen powers of observation that got me through law school."</p><p>"Maybe she wants to be able to see out."</p><p>"Hmmm." Foggy seemed unconvinced. </p><p>A pause. </p><p>"Are you worried about her, counselor?" asked Matt.</p><p>"What? No! She's just...she can't be that long out of college, right? Maybe she hasn't learned all the street smarts required to make it to 25 in this part of the city."</p><p>Matt turned back to the pile of papers, doing his best to feign nonchalance. "You think she's that young?"</p><p>"She used the phrase 'straight up' at least three times at lunch, and mentioned at one point that she fell asleep on her cousin trying to stay up for the millennium. I don't know what you were doing on New Year's Eve in 1999, but my night definitely didn't involve wearing footie pajamas."</p><p>Matt nodded, wanting to change the subject. "It's her office, Foggy. She can do what she wants." He was such a hypocrite. </p><p>"Doesn't mean it's the safest thing she could be doing."</p><p>Foggy left the office. Matt dropped his head on the desk, giving up all pretense of working. <em>Not even 25</em>. He hadn't considered how old you might be. You carried yourself with an ease that had made him think (hope?) late twenties, thirty maybe. But of course everything Foggy had pointed out added up. That means that you were still years away from starting college when he was being handed his law degree. No wonder then, when he'd briefly cast his memory back to see if he'd heard of a Barnard student with your name while he was at Columbia, he'd come up with nothing. <em>Not even 25.</em></p><p>And now Foggy comes in and brings that up because he probably thinks of you like one of his kid sisters, and expects that Matt feels the same. And sure, Matt wanted to make sure nothing happened to you, like he wanted for any of the Nelson women, but the feelings at the root of that were anything but familial. <em>Not even 25</em>. That's the age when people are still in their first terrible relationship, and when the horrors of hangovers that leave you immobilized are still years in the future. The age when you don't even notice the lawyer across the hall.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For this fic, I am assuming (based on https://www.reddit.com/r/Defenders/comments/5hhq2m/wall_of_text_how_old_is_matt_murdock_and_co_in/) that Matt is 36.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Tell all the truth but tell it slant —<br/>
Success in Circuit lies<br/>
Too bright for our infirm Delight<br/>
The Truth's superb surprise<br/>
As Lightning to the Children eased<br/>
With explanation kind<br/>
The Truth must dazzle gradually<br/>
Or every man be blind —</p>
  <p>- Emily Dickinson</p>
</div><p>You were thinking about the lawyer across the hall.</p>
<p>Thanksgiving had just passed -- a whirlwind trip to the West Coast, complete with the first leg to O'Hare cancelled so you're flying on Thanksgiving itself. Your mom's green bean casserole, your dad rooting against Notre Dame in several sports, your sister's less-than-subtle interrogation of your romantic prospects.</p>
<p>And now you're back and the city is in full holiday mode, and this was the first year you could finally, <em>finally</em> afford to buy the people in your life gifts. Not show-stopping ones, obviously, but the kind that says "I've paid attention to you and your life and I feel like you'd appreciate this tiny succulent." Those kinds of gifts. </p>
<p>And for most people, it had been easy. Your parents, your sister, your old roommate, your college friends in the city. Even two-thirds of the Nelson and Murdock employees. Foggy: cat mug (duh). Karen: nice bubble bath from one of the local boutiques that you felt a little intimidated even entering, as if the store clerks could sense the paucity of your bank account. </p>
<p>But you were stumped by Matt Murdock, attorney at law. Most of your gifts relied on being visually delightful (see cat mug) or the kind of sensory intimacy you generally only reserved for giving to other women (see bubble bath). Not that you hadn't given those kinds of gifts to a couple of the guys in your life, but you just couldn't bring yourself to give Matt something that said "Yes, at some point during this gift giving process, I implicitly acknowledged you are sometimes naked." It sends a particular kind of message. </p>
<p>So you were pondering this as you walked out of your office late one night in early December, only to see the telltale signs of New York's Sneakiest on the rooftop of the building. Luckily, by this point in your interactions, if you stopped and just stared at him for ten or fifteen seconds, he would come down to street level. </p>
<p>When he dropped into view, you were ready. </p>
<p>"Hey, Zorro, I have a question."</p>
<p>He seemed wary. "Okay."</p>
<p>"I need to get someone a Christmas gift. And I need help."</p>
<p>He didn't say anything. </p>
<p>"Look, you're a guy that I don't really know very well. This other guy is also someone that I don't know very well. So because you guys are roughly equidistant from me in terms of familiarity, I thought you'd be a good someone to bounce ideas off of."</p>
<p>"Who is it?"</p>
<p>"He's a lawyer who works across the hall from me. I got his partner and his office manager gifts already, and I want to get him something. He's really sweet and funny but like I said I don't know him that well so I haven't come up with something brilliant right off the bat."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Matt really didn't want to have this conversation.</p>
<p>Because of course you would be asking him about a present for Foggy. Without even knowing it was him. Don't let anyone tell him that God didn't have a sense of humor. </p>
<p>Because Foggy had come and asked the same damn question about you less than a week ago. And over the course of the conversation, it had become clear that Matt's original assessment of Foggy's feelings about you being that of a kid sister were somewhat off the mark.</p>
<p>"Matt, I just want to get her something. Like, I don't know, a scarf or something. Nothing fancy or weird."</p>
<p>"Fancy or weird?" </p>
<p>"You know, just something simple."</p>
<p>"Aren't you overthinking this?"</p>
<p>Foggy ran his hand through his hair. "Look, I think I'd like to get to know her. And this is a chance to start that. But it can't be anything special, you know, nothing that would make her feel awkward if I'm just the lawyer across the hall to her."</p>
<p>Matt's heart had stilled at these last words. "What?"</p>
<p>"What do you mean, what?"</p>
<p>Matt cleared his throat. "I just...didn't know you were interested in her."</p>
<p>"I mean, I'd like to get to know her better. That's why I have to get her something good, and why you, o avocado, have to help me."</p>
<p>Matt loved Foggy more than anyone else in the world, and had never wanted to punch him so badly. Because you and him would be great together, and he'd make you laugh and remember your birthday and never, ever show up bleeding and concussed on your doorstep. It had taken all of Matt's internal resolve to not do exactly that on at least one occasion after a particularly nasty encounter with the Russians. </p>
<p>He only knew where you lived because on one occasion when you'd left the office late, you'd forgone the bus and walked home instead, and he'd tracked you the whole way back. Matt wasn't sure what exactly the catechism had to say about someone who follows women without their knowledge but knew that it probably wasn't up there in the realm of cardinal virtues.</p>
<p>He was suddenly aware of how long he had been standing there in silence, you standing in front of him. He turned away from you. </p>
<p>"Presents aren't my realm of specialty."</p>
<p>"C'mon, you have to give me more than that. I haven't even described him to you. I'm out of my depths here."</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"Because he's blind!"</p>
<p>That was unexpected. Luckily, Matt had decades of practice in keeping his face composed. </p>
<p>"So what does that have to do with anything?"</p>
<p>"So usually my gifts involve some kind of visual element, like a magnet or a vase or something. And I know there's the four other senses, but they're so much trickier. I dated this guy in college who was hyper-sensitive about smells and the perfume I wore was too much for him. And he wasn't even blind!"</p>
<p>Matt took a brief moment to mentally congratulate your ex on being such an idiot. He knew your perfume as well, but it was too much for him in entirely different ways. Sometimes, if you stayed for more than a few minutes talking with him in his office, he had to open the windows once you left and lean out into the open air, taking in the odors of takeout and exhaust and garbage. All to avoid the scent of gardenia and the urge to pull you back into the room, back you up against one of the walls, feel the pulse of your heartbeat and the length of your collarbone underneath his hand, and…</p>
<p>He needed to get to confession.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe asking Zorro had not been the best idea. It had been an impulse, but one that was quickly looking to be going nowhere. You waved your hand. "Forget about it. I'll figure something out."</p>
<p>"Something soft."</p>
<p>"Excuse me?"</p>
<p>"Like a shirt, or a hat. Something soft."</p>
<p>You nodded. That could totally work. </p>
<p>“Thanks! I really appreciate it.” You shuffled your feet slightly, uncertain how to word this next part. “Okay, so, another thing I wanted to talk about. What should I call you?”</p>
<p>“Whatever you want to.”</p>
<p>“C’mon, we’ve known each other for months now. I mean, you can’t give me a name, or a nickname, or a name that could be a nickname for your name? Or anything?”’</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Look, you don’t have to give me your real name. I’m just getting tired of calling you ‘Zorro’ or ‘New York’s Sneakiest’ or ‘Crouching Ninja, Hidden Intent’ in my head.”</p>
<p>The last one seemed to make him laugh involuntarily. “Any of those are fine.”</p>
<p>“Ugh. I’m just going to keep calling you Zorro.”</p>
<p>And there it was. That smile that made your breath catch a little bit. You had no idea what the rest of his face looked like, but if it was anything like the dimpled grin you were so eternally screwed. Alright, gotta pack this up before it gets out of hand and you say something stupid.</p>
<p>“Well, thanks for the advice, Zorro. I appreciate it. I’ll see you around.” You turned in the direction of your apartment but stopped as the masked man fell into step with you.</p>
<p>“What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“I’m seeing you to the bus stop.”</p>
<p>This was new.</p>
<p>“...why?”</p>
<p>“There’s been a couple of pretty nasty muggings the last couple of nights around this area.” </p>
<p>You stood still, looking at him, trying to figure it out. At the end of a particular robust night of drinking on break from college, one of your friends from high school had thrown her arm around your shoulder and explained to you that you were “book smart but street stupid.” She hadn’t been wrong, exactly. Sometimes it was hard for you to read circumstances, to see the intent behind people’s actions. It wasn’t that you were naive. Just that you had the kind of imagination that was constantly telling itself stories, and sometimes in the moment you couldn’t remember how the stories you were telling yourself about the people you were interacting with compared to the actual human beings. So sometimes you overestimated people.</p>
<p>And sometimes you underestimated them. </p>
<p>You took a step back from the masked man.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>xxxxxx</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>, Matt thought. </p>
<p>He’d been caught up in finding out that you were trying to buy a present for him, not Foggy, and in cementing the nickname that he’d forgotten what this looked like. Masked man in a dark alley seemingly determined to follow a woman. In Hell’s Kitchen, no less. He quickly backed up and put up his hands in the universal gesture of “I mean no harm.” </p>
<p>He sensed you watching. Weighing his gestures. Finally you spoke.</p>
<p>“Fine.”</p>
<p>Matt nodded and started to walk alongside you, careful to keep a few feet away.</p>
<p>“I didn’t really think you were dangerous,” he heard you say softly.</p>
<p>Matt frowned. “You should trust your instincts.” </p>
<p>“No, I mean, if you meant me harm you would have done something by now. And if you were playing the really long game, you’re for sure a total psychopath and I’d be screwed anyway. You just have to accept your bad luck at that point.” </p>
<p>Matt sucked air in between his teeth as he pictured the aftermath of you in an alley with someone who was an actual threat. He’d burn the entirety of Hell’s Kitchen to the ground. </p>
<p>Well, there’d be plenty of time during patrol later to unpack that particular reaction.</p>
<p>“You don’t have to accept anything.”</p>
<p>You laughed. “Oh, you think I wouldn’t fight tooth and nail? They’d be finding chunks of you all over the block. The headlines would read “Tragic Death of a 23-Year-Old. She Managed to Kick Ass and Take Names For About 30 Seconds There Though, Good For Her.”</p>
<p>23. 23. 23. 23.</p>
<p>
  <em>Get it together, Murdock.</em>
</p>
<p>23. She was starting kindergarten when he was starting college. </p>
<p>
  <em>Murdock, stop thinking about it.</em>
</p>
<p>The rest of the few blocks passed in silence.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for the kudos and kind words, I appreciate every one of them!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Behold the Lamb of God, <br/>behold him who takes away the sins of the world. <br/>Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb.<br/>- Invitation to Communion, Roman Catholic Mass</p>
</div>It started with happy hour with Foggy and Karen. A successful case, a victory that made them feel like law was worth it, that it wasn’t just sucking their souls away. And then it became a celebration of Karen’s new apartment (one month in the past) and Foggy’s birthday (two months in the future). And before he knew it, Matthew Murdock was well and truly smashed. The kind that makes you feel invincible as it was happening, like you had been given the cipher of universal understanding and everything fell into place.<p>The problem was that Matt wasn’t just a normal person who’d had too much to drink --- he was a vigilante with the idea of finding you on your way home. So when he dropped into your view without so much as a whisper beforehand, you could be forgiven for shrieking and jumping back, one hand fumbling for your mace.</p>
<p>“Jesus <em>Christ</em>, Zorro. You can’t just do that to people.”</p>
<p>“You take His name in vain a lot.” Not the most stellar of opening lines, but Matt could figure out a way to work with it.</p>
<p>“Excuse me?” </p>
<p>“You take the Lord’s name in vain a lot.”</p>
<p>“I take the...are you drunk? God, your breath smells like a dive bar.”</p>
<p>“You smell like gardenias.” Okay, he definitely hadn’t meant to say that one. </p>
<p>“Thanks?”</p>
<p>He thought he heard a noise and whirled around, braced for a fight. Neither gravity nor his inner balance were on his side, though, and he nearly lost his footing. You put your hand on his arm, steadying him.</p>
<p>“Alright, you’re definitely drunk. I’m taking you home before you go and terrorize someone else. What’s your address?”</p>
<p>“Can’t tell you.”</p>
<p>“Buddy, your choice is either my place or yours, no way I’m leaving you out here on the street.”</p>
<p>“Yours, then.”</p>
<p>Oh, this was not good. He was supposed to watch out for the people of Hell’s Kitchen, watch out for you, not invite himself back to your place. But the tiny, drunk voice in his head reassured him that this was going to all be fine, that it was in fact the best plan that had ever been concocted.</p>
<p>He decided to listen to the voice.</p>
<p>It was a long walk to your apartment. There was one stop on the way --- dinner for you from an Indian food cart (“my grandma sent me some money and said, and I quote, ‘live that big city dream!’ So I’m getting takeout.”)</p>
<p>The flights of stairs up and up and up seemed eternal and disorienting, especially with the touch of your hand on his arm. If he leaned into it a little more than was strictly necessary, he was never going to admit that to himself.</p>
<p>Finally, the door. You reached into your bag, takeout plastic bag hanging off your arm, digging under a notebook, wallet, and a couple of wrappers before extracting the key in triumph. Before you could insert the key into the door, he touched two fingers to your hand that was still holding his arm.</p>
<p>“Wait. You really don’t have to do this.”</p>
<p>“What, like I’m going to leave you out there? No way. You’ll end up in the Hudson. Or worse.”</p>
<p>The alcohol was fading from his system. He could almost feel it happening in real time. With the dissipation of the endorphins and blissful, in-the-moment existence came the realization of what he’d done. You’d been seen with him --- the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen --- for much longer than the brief conversations here and there that had constituted your interactions up until this point. Anyone could have seen you and him walking.</p>
<p>Anyone could have figured out where you lived.</p>
<p>Matt swallowed hard, bile rising up in his throat. <em>How could he have been so stupid.</em> You’d offered assistance to someone you barely knew, and in return he’d put you in danger. </p>
<p>“Zorro?”</p>
<p>Your voice was soft and concerned. He imagined that it was the one you used for scared animals, or children who had nightmares. </p>
<p>“Don’t call me that.”</p>
<p>Of all the things he could have said in that moment, it was those biting words that came out. He turned on his heel and fled. Down the hall, down the stairs, bursting out the door onto the street. It had started to rain. He turned his face up to the sky, unseeing eyes searching, searching for the answer.</p>
<p>None came.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>xxxxxxx</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next day was a triple espresso day for you. After the abrupt departure of Zorro (God, what were you supposed to call him now?), you had stared dumbfounded at the space where he had last stood for a good minute before remembering that you were still in the hall. Silently, you unlocked the door.</p>
<p>What followed was a total of three tears shed for your wounded ego, and many hours of pondering. Who the hell was this guy? You’d done your research when he showed up in your life (you weren’t an idiot) and had found all the newspaper clippings and blog posts and tweets about the masked vigilante of Hell’s Kitchen. From what you could tell, he only took on bad guys. Although some of the techniques he appeared to have used made your stomach turn --- broken limbs, bone-deep bruises. This was wreaking all kinds of havoc on your moral instincts. You tried to do no harm, help people where you could, leave the world a little better than you found it. This man seemed to have taken upon himself a one-person crusade to rid every street south of 59th of the worst that humankind had to offer. </p>
<p>Which brought you to his odd behavior the night before. He had seemed perfectly content to talk with you at first, to linger in the shadows while you ordered malai kofta (you couldn’t see him while you were waiting, blowing into your hands to keep them warm, but you knew he was there). But as soon as you’d gotten to your apartment it was like a switch had flipped. </p>
<p>Damn it, maybe if two thirds of his face hadn’t been covered, you would have been able to read something in his eyes when he had told you not to call him Zorro. There was some emotion under there, and it wasn’t embarrassment or anger. </p>
<p>If you hadn’t known better, you would have said it sounded like fear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Matt pretended like he wasn’t listening for your footsteps in the morning. Luckily, the work for a two-man (and one-woman, Karen liked to remind them) operation was seemingly never ending, and he distracted himself with it the best he could. When you finally arrived, a half hour later than normal, he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.</p>
<p>Foggy happened to be coming back from an early morning deposition.</p>
<p>“Hey, how’s it going?”</p>
<p>Your voice was smaller than normal. “Fine, Foggy, how are you?”</p>
<p>Matt could practically hear the gears whirring in Foggy’s brain. “Everything okay?”</p>
<p>You sighed. “Yes and no. It’s complicated.”</p>
<p>“That sounds like something a good piece of coffee cake could fix. Karen brought in some this morning. You interested?”</p>
<p>“I mean....” You seemed to pause to consider it. “Actually, that would be really nice.”</p>
<p>Crap. That means you were coming in here. Matt doubled down on his efforts to look busy.</p>
<p>If pressed hard to explain what the world looked like with his abilities, Matt would say that it looked like everything was on fire. And what really wasn’t fair was that you seemed like the brightest presence in the room, even though he couldn’t see a thing. </p>
<p>He would have given everything to see you just once.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> After we flew across the country we<br/>got in bed, laid our bodies<br/>delicately together, like maps laid<br/>face to face, East to West, my<br/>San Francisco against your New York, your<br/>Fire Island against my Sonoma, my<br/>New Orleans deep in your Texas, your Idaho<br/>bright on my Great Lakes, my Kansas<br/>burning against your Kansas your Kansas<br/>burning against my Kansas</p>
  <p>- Sharon Olds, "Topography" </p>
</div>You followed Foggy into the office, still not sure if you’d consumed enough caffeine this morning to have even a semi-normal conversation.<p>Karen took one look at you, cut a piece of coffee cake, and told Foggy,</p>
<p>“We’re using your office.”</p>
<p>Ignoring Foggy’s minor protests, she grabbed your arm and pulled you in.</p>
<p>“Okay, what’s up?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” You tried to look innocent.</p>
<p>“Oh, cut it out. You look like hell. I’ve seen you every day for who knows how many months at this point, and you’ve never looked like this.”</p>
<p>You swallowed around the lump in your throat, fighting the sudden urge to cry.</p>
<p>Karen’s face softened. “Hey. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. Just to say that I’m here if you need to talk.”</p>
<p>“...Have you ever had a guy just, um, walk out on you? Well, not walk out, exactly, we didn’t even make it into my apartment.”</p>
<p>A look of understanding passed over Karen’s face. “Ah.”</p>
<p>You laughed a little. “Who am I kidding? Look at you --- you’ve probably broken hearts on every block in this city. Of course this hasn’t happened to you.”</p>
<p>She shook her head. “Trust me, it’s not like that. And we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Who was this guy? Did he try anything you didn’t want? Because Nelson and Murdock would take that case in a heartbeat.”</p>
<p>“No, no it was nothing like that. He just seemed fine with coming back to my place, and then he wasn’t. I’ve just never had anything like that happen.”</p>
<p>“He sounds like a jerk. You’re a great person and any guy would be lucky to have you. I’m sorry to say that you had a not-atypical dating experience in New York City. The only real remedy is to move on and find someone who deserves you.”</p>
<p>You nodded, even though Karen had misunderstood the nature of your interaction with Masked and Elusive (you were still working on alternative names to call him). Not that you would have necessarily minded if the evening had taken a turn in that direction…</p>
<p>But that was neither here nor there. He had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with you. So maybe Karen’s advice wasn’t half bad.</p>
<p>“You’re right.”</p>
<p>She smiled. “Of course I am. Want to go out this weekend or next? I promise it’ll keep your mind off of things.”</p>
<p>“Sure, why not?”</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>Matt didn’t know how to fix this. He hadn’t interacted with you as the Devil since the night he fled your building. How would he even begin to explain it? --- “I’m afraid you would get hurt.” “I wouldn’t be able to be the kind of friend you deserved.” “I’m putting you in danger.” “You have no idea what I’ve done or what I’ve had done to me.” </p>
<p>Or, tucked away in the deepest recesses of his mind: “If I start with you, I will never stop, and the darkness inside me will consume the light inside you, and I would be too selfish to stop that from happening.”</p>
<p>So he’d stayed away and let his mind gnaw itself to the bone trying to figure it out. And now you were going out dancing with Karen Page, which made it feel like the universe was really out to get him. </p>
<p>Of course, he had no idea what you looked like, but he could imagine it was fairly jaw-dropping based on the slightly choked wheeze that Foggy had let out at the sight of you when you stopped by after work to rendezvous with Karen before heading out.</p>
<p>“Wow, you, look, wow.”</p>
<p>Smooth one, Nelson. </p>
<p>You laughed. “Thanks, Foggy. You sure you guys don’t want to come?”</p>
<p>Quickly shaking off his stupor at the sight of you and clearing his throat, Foggy slung an arm around Matt’s shoulder. “We avocados are more barflies than tornadoes on the dance floor.”</p>
<p>“Alright, we’ll all have to go out for drinks sometime soon then. Maybe in a couple weeks, after Christmas?”</p>
<p>“Alright, this night isn’t getting any younger, let’s go.” Karen appeared from the bathroom. Then you and she were gone, laughter floating back up the stairs to the street.</p>
<p>Foggy groaned.</p>
<p>“How bad was it?”</p>
<p>“Not your most stellar performance, I have to say.”</p>
<p>“She looked amazing. And she had her hair back and she was wearing this dress.”</p>
<p>“You’re really painting a mental picture for the blind person here.”</p>
<p>“Matty, what do I do?”</p>
<p>Matt ignored his first thought of “Stay away from her or else” and went with “You just have to ask her out. For a coffee or something.”</p>
<p>“I know, but she just had that incident with that creep. I don’t want her to feel pressured or anything.”</p>
<p>You and Karen had emerged from Foggy’s office that day after an hour. It had seemed to Matt that only the first few minutes had been intense, with low voices exchanging clipped sentences. The rest of the time had been punctuated with laughter and light voices. </p>
<p>With a quick wave, you had ducked out the front door and back to your office. As soon as the door was closed, Foggy rounded on Karen.</p>
<p>“Okay, what was that?”</p>
<p>“She had a rough day yesterday. We talked about it.”</p>
<p>“Karen, I’ve never seen her look like that. Was it bad?”</p>
<p>“Foggy, it’s none of your business.”</p>
<p>“Karen, please.”</p>
<p>Karen sighed. “Some jerk of a guy she was out with. She’s fine. End of discussion. It’s not my story to tell.”</p>
<p>Is that what you’d told Karen about your night before? That you’d been out with some guy and he’d ditched you? Matt could hardly blame you for embellishing the details when the real story was that the masked vigilante of the neighborhood had fled from you like you were a house on fire.</p>
<p>He needed to talk to you and fix what he’d messed up. And somehow find a way to be really, truly happy with just friendship while Foggy went out with you. Yeah, that’ll be easy. </p>
<p>Nothing that a few hundred rounds with the punching bags at the gym shouldn’t be able to fix.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for the kind words and kudos! This has been a fun one to write.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,<br/>
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,<br/>
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,<br/>
But tell of days in goodness spent,<br/>
A mind at peace with all below,<br/>
A heart whose love is innocent!</p>
  <p>- Lord Byron, “She Walks in Beauty”</p>
</div>Going out with Karen had been the right choice. You'd had a couple gin and tonics, figured out that you both went through a vaguely punk rock phase in high school, and sworn (at 1am, in front of the second club) that you would take up running together because it was about time that you guys started actually exercising.<p>Hanging out with her made you miss college and the easy camaraderie of friendships struck up in the dining hall or on the floor of your freshman suite. Waving good night to her, you headed back home, thinking that you should get back in touch with some old friends.</p><p>A few blocks from your apartment, you instinctively looked up and saw the telltale fog of breath hanging above the four story building. You considered ignoring it and heading inside, but you couldn't do it. Just like you couldn't find it in yourself to be truly mad at him. Sadness was a familiar dark emotion to you, as was loneliness and despair, but anger had never taken root in your bloodstream the way it had in others you knew. The way you knew it had taken root in <em>his</em>, based on the photos you'd seen in the police reports filed about the assaults on neo-Nazis and human traffickers and gang leaders.</p><p>You weren't going to think about that now.</p><p>You tilted your chin up, staring at the spot on the roof. He slowly made his way down, taking more time than usual on each level of the fire escape. It hit you for the first time how silent he was, and how much of a deliberate effort he must make to make noise when you're around so that you know he's there.</p><p><em>Like a cat wearing a bell</em>. One corner of your mouth quirked up as the image flashed through your brain. </p><p>Finally, he stood in front of you. Although "in front" was generous --- he was at least eight feet away from you. You could feel the unease pour off him in waves. </p><p>"Am I really that bad?" you asked before you could stop yourself. </p><p>He shook his head and gave a brittle laugh. </p><p>"The opposite, in fact."</p><p>Oh great, he was in one of his riddle moods. </p><p>"If you don't want me calling you Zorro" --- he visibly flinched --- "and you won't tell me what you want to be called, I'm going to call you Byron. It's an actual name and it fits you."</p><p>"Brooding, half-mad, a terror to society?" The loathing in his voice made your heart crack. </p><p>"No. I was thinking of his love for creatures. Did you know he had a dog? His name was Boatswain and Byron loved him more than anything. When Boatswain got rabies, Byron nursed him and built a marble mausoleum for him when he died, even though he had no money at the time."</p><p>No reply. </p><p>"You seem like someone who would build a mausoleum for a dog, even if it cost you your last dollar."</p><p>"You don't know me."</p><p>"Well, let me get to know you, then."</p><p>"It's too dangerous." Three words, clipped, piercing arrows thudding into the heartwood of an oak. </p><p>So that's what this was about. </p><p> </p><p>xxxx</p><p> </p><p>Matt heard you cross your arms, sensed you tilt your head to the side. He needed to get out of this conversation, out of this block, out of this goddamn city. </p><p>"Are you not going to let me decide what's too dangerous for me?" Your tone wasn't defensive or condescending, like Matt had been expecting. It reminded him of one of his philosophy professors from college, who would present wide-open, soul-searching, earth-shattering questions like they had all the time in the world to discover the answers. Like they were all capable of finding the answers.</p><p>He advanced slowly on you, backing you up into the brick wall of the building behind you. He was forcing you to look up at him. </p><p>He spoke in a low voice. "If anyone finds out that you know me, if the <em>wrong</em> people find out you know me, they will hurt you to get to me. They will kill you to get to me."</p><p>Your heartbeat picked up. He could smell the cortisol coming off you.</p><p>"And they would take their time about it. You don't have any idea who you are dealing with."</p><p>"Stop."</p><p>You were scared. <em>Good.</em> Maybe you would say to hell with it all and move back to the West Coast where no one would look for you, and maybe someday Matt would be able to stop drinking about you.  </p><p>Yeah, and maybe he would settle down in a nice bungalow on Long Island and take up knitting. </p><p>"You think I didn't consider all that before yelling at you that first day?" The question was so quiet that even with his abilities Matt barely caught it. </p><p>"Excuse me?"</p><p>"I said, you think I didn't consider all that? I wasn't asking someone at the local coffee shop if they wanted to go see a movie sometime, I <em>yelled</em> at someone who parkours across <em>the rooftops of Manhattan</em> and gives off the world's most 'fuck off I'm dangerous' vibes. I could have just ignored you, I could have reported you, hell I could have moved to Brooklyn but I didn't."</p><p>He’d never heard you swear before. "That was foolish."</p><p>"No, it was a risk I decided I was willing to take. I'm human, Byron. I get to decide every moment of every day which risks I am willing to take. You don't get to make those decisions for me."</p><p>"Fine, then I get to decide what risks I am willing to take, and <em>I am not risking you.</em>"</p><p>"Then stop FOLLOWING me!" </p><p>The heat in your words made him fall back a step. </p><p>"Seriously?! You think that you can keep an eye on me when I'm out at night and whatever enemies you are talking about won't put two and two together? And you think you can come out and loom over me like some kind of Baroque gargoyle and I'll go shrinking violet back to my apartment, never to leave again? Did you learn your intimidation techniques in the Cro-Magnon era?"</p><p>Matt shook his head. This conversation was getting away from him. </p><p>Suddenly, you sighed and leaned back against the wall, covering your face with your hands.</p><p>"I'm sorry," you said softly. </p><p>Matt's eyebrows raised. "What?"</p><p>"Just because I'm right doesn't mean that I couldn't have done that better." You laughed a little, sounding more like yourself than you had during this entire conversation. </p><p>"Can we talk about this? Somewhere not," you gestured around, "here?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am upping the rating to reflect swearing and future violence and intimacy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,” <br/>and you make the Most High your dwelling, <br/>no harm will overtake you, <br/>no disaster will come near your tent. <br/>For he will command his angels concerning you <br/>to guard you in all your ways; <br/>they will lift you up in their hands, <br/>so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. <br/>You will tread on the lion and the cobra; <br/>you will trample the great lion and the serpent.</p>
  <p>Psalm 91, New International Version</p>
</div>Deja vu. You were back at your apartment door, looking in your purse for your keys. Byron (this time it had to stick, it would be ridiculous to keep changing names) stood silently next to you. You couldn’t get a read on his body language.<p>You pushed the door open and dropped your bag on the low bench near the door, sat down, and kicked off your heels. Looking up, you realized he was still in the hall.</p>
<p>“Please come in.”</p>
<p>He nodded and stepped inside the doorframe, following you into the one (the only) room of your apartment. Rubbing your neck, you turned to him, </p>
<p>“I need to get changed out of this”--- you gestured down the length of your body to indicate your dress and tights --- “before I can talk. Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine.” A short pause. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Suit yourself. Feel free to take a seat wherever. I’ll only be a few minutes.” You waved a hand behind you as you walked into the bathroom, pausing to grab a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt on the way in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>xxxx</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the door clicked behind you, Matt continued to stand in the middle of the room. Instinctively, he took in the angles and vantage points of the small space, shifting so his back was to the corner facing the door. It was a small studio, but neat and clean from what he could sense.</p>
<p>Okay, he only had a few minutes before you reappeared. Time to regroup. Tiredness raced over him in a wave, and he was suddenly aware of every aching muscle, bruised limb, and raw cut from his patrols over the past week. He really didn’t know how he was going to keep standing up, let alone have the kind of conversation you deserved about what the hell was going on.</p>
<p>It would help if he had any clue.</p>
<p><em>Don’t lie to yourself,</em> the voice in his head said. It sounded like Father Lantom and Stick and Elektra all blended together. What a hellish combination that would be in real life. </p>
<p>He wanted you. He wanted you, and it was clouding his better judgement. He wanted your laugh and your questions and your stories and the curves of your body that he came unbidden to his mind when he was in bed. The first time you’d hugged him a couple of months ago after hearing that he had won a particularly hard-fought case, he’d had to bite the inside of his cheek until it almost bled to distract himself from the sensation of your body against his. </p>
<p>He wanted to feel you breathing next to him while you slept, and hear firsthand about the elaborate dreams he sometimes heard you describing to Karen. He wanted all of those things and a thousand more but what he wanted most was for you to be whole and hale. And for that to be true, something had to change.</p>
<p>You emerged from the bathroom, running a hand through your hair. Looking at him, you shook your head.</p>
<p>“How did I know that you wouldn’t sit down?”</p>
<p>Matt reluctantly lowered himself into one of your kitchen table chairs. You grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and sat cross-legged on the end of your bed facing him. </p>
<p>“Can you answer a few things for me?” you asked.</p>
<p>“I’ll try.”</p>
<p>“Why did you start following me? Did you see me on the street, or did I do something to catch your attention?”</p>
<p>Luckily, Matt had anticipated this question and knew from experience that it was easier to lie if you stuck somewhat close to the truth. “I’d just had a run-in with human traffickers and helped some of the women escape. It made me more aware of the women in the area the next few nights I was patrolling.”</p>
<p>You nodded slowly. So far, so good.</p>
<p>“What’s your superpower?”</p>
<p>Matt inhaled sharply. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean, Thor’s got lightning and super-demi-god strength, and Iron Man has a billion dollars and AI suits, and Captain America has super soldier abilities…”</p>
<p>“What makes you think I have a superpower?”</p>
<p>You gestured towards his outfit. “I mean, non-superpower people typically don’t have a specific outfit they wear. Unless you count, like, firefighters. Or the patisserie wizards who work at that one donut shop in the East Village.”</p>
<p>He thought for a moment about his options, and decided to go with the truth. One part of the truth. “I can tell if you, if anyone, is lying.”</p>
<p>“Woah. Okay.”</p>
<p>Silence for thirty seconds while you pondered this one.</p>
<p>“That doesn’t help you fight people, though, right? I mean, unless they are actively telling you ‘I’m going to punch your head’ when they’re actually going for your solar plexus?”</p>
<p>“No, it generally doesn’t help in active altercations.”</p>
<p>“So are you just fighting like a normal person, then? Or do you have backup superpowers that help with that one?”</p>
<p>“I have heightened awareness of my surroundings compared to the average person.” Matt really didn’t know why he was telling you all of this, and he wasn’t sure that it was a good idea that he was. But it felt cathartic to talk to someone about it, even in vague terms. </p>
<p>“What do you mean, heightened awareness?”</p>
<p>One corner of Matt’s mouth quirked up. “You have a chipped tooth.”</p>
<p>Your mouth dropped open a little. “How did you know?”</p>
<p>“When you breathe out, I can hear the way the air moves over it.”</p>
<p>More silence. Matt braced for your reaction.</p>
<p>You let out a shocked laugh and grinned. “That’s so <em>cool.</em>”</p>
<p>The delight in your voice hit Matt. He can’t remember if he ever thought of his abilities as cool --- useful, yes, burdensome, yes. They were too caught up in the grief of losing his sight.</p>
<p>“Is it the same with your other senses?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” Except one.</p>
<p>“Oh shit, you must know I haven’t showered since yesterday. God, I’m sorry. I really meant to but I got home late and then ---”</p>
<p>“Relax. I live in a city of 8 million people, many of whom have much less stringent personal hygiene practices than you do.”</p>
<p>You shifted further back on the bed, seemingly just in case that helped. What it actually did was remind Matt that he was in your apartment, and with a single movement he could be on top of you on your bed and figuring out exactly which tooth was chipped. </p>
<p>
  <em>Focus.</em>
</p>
<p>“Okay, so what are we going to do?”</p>
<p>The pace of your thoughts sometimes made him dizzy. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean, you are clearly concerned about your enemies getting to me if we keep interacting. So should we just pretend we don’t know each other? I’d really hate to stop talking to you but I don’t want you to be stressed.”</p>
<p>Stressed was an understatement. Waking up tangled in sweat-soaked sheets with the echoes of your screams in his head was a more accurate description.</p>
<p>“But I really do like seeing you. I mean, I would miss that.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have to pretend you don’t exist.” God, you were his weakness. “I just can’t be seen in public with you.”</p>
<p>“How is that going to work?”</p>
<p>“I don’t <em>know.</em>” Matt leaned forward, gripping his head in his hands. “This doesn’t exactly happen every day for me.”</p>
<p>“Do I get to see your face?”</p>
<p>Matt’s mouth went dry.</p>
<p>“Shit, um, sorry. I’m new to this whole ‘being friends with a superhero’ thing. Is that the equivalent of asking a woman to take her hijab off? Forget I said it.”</p>
<p>“Don’t wor---”</p>
<p>You kept talking in a rushed, haphazard manner, “It’s just that I do better with interactions when I can see someone’s face, and it’s not like you have anything to hide, right, I bet you’re pretty good-looking based on the lower third of your face that I can see and ---” you slapped a hand over your mouth, blushing, suddenly aware of where your words had gone.</p>
<p>Matt didn’t know what to say.</p>
<p>“Forget I said that.”</p>
<p>“Consider it forgotten.”</p>
<p>You jumped up off the bed and started to pace. “What if we met up occasionally not in public?” </p>
<p>“Give me some time to think about it.”</p>
<p>You nodded. “In the meantime, I still haven’t given you your Christmas present.” Walking over to your desk, you rummaged around in one of the drawers. Matt panicked briefly --- what if he couldn’t figure out what the present was without his sight? </p>
<p>Luckily, you held out the small jar to him and said, “It’s a healing salve that one of my hippie cousins makes. It’s got yarrow and calendula and a bunch of other random herbs in there. It smells like an apothecary exploded, but it really does work. I figured that someone who’s regularly taking on the Mafia could use something like that.”</p>
<p>Before he could stop himself, before he was even aware that he was moving, Matt leaned down and kissed you on the cheek. </p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>You blushed again. “Don’t mention it.” You lightly shoved him towards the door. “I know you’ve got a neighborhood to protect, Byron. Don’t let me keep you from it.”</p>
<p>Later that night, when he’d finally returned home and peeled off his shirt, wincing as the fabric stuck to several wounds, he thought to himself, <em>I’m in so deep.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>The stars know everything,<br/>
So we try to read their minds.<br/>
As distant as they are,<br/>
We choose to whisper in their presence.</p>
  <p>- Charles Simic, “Autumn Sky”</p>
</div>The rest of the holiday season passed in a blur. Karen and Foggy seemed pleased with the gifts you had gotten them, and Matt smiled in a way you couldn’t quite understand when he unwrapped the large scarf you’d tracked down for him --- the softest one in the consignment store.<p>Karen had gotten you a pair of small silver earrings with miniature moonstones, and Foggy, two spots of red high on his cheeks, handed you a neatly wrapped package that turned out to be a full hot chocolate kit --- chocolate for melting, handcrafted marshmallows, and peppermint straws. </p><p>“Ah, this is great, Foggy! I get through the worst of my editing with the help of hot chocolate and mochas.”</p><p>“I’m glad you like it.”</p><p>He looked sideways at Karen, who nodded knowingly and said “C’mon, Matt, we’ve got those files to review.”</p><p>“What fil---”</p><p>“You know, the ones we were talking about earlier. Come on.” and with that, she tugged Matt into his office and shut the door.</p><p>You were still examining the contents of the hot chocolate kit and missed most of this exchange. When you looked up, Foggy was standing nervously in front of you.</p><p>“Hey, what’s up? Is something wrong?”</p><p>“Wrong? No! I just. I…” he trailed off.</p><p>You watched him, a small furrow between your brow. “Are you sure?”</p><p>“Would you like to go on a date with me?”</p><p>While not entirely surprising, given your interactions with him in the past month, the question still managed to catch you off guard. “Oh, I…” you could feel yourself starting to trail off, and you clenched your jaw, not wanting to hurt Foggy, “that would be great.”</p><p>The relief and happiness in Foggy’s eyes was palpable. “Great! I mean, I figure it wouldn’t be until after the holidays, you’re probably busy and have parties and plans and going back to see your family and all.”</p><p>“Yeah, that sounds great. Sometime in the new year?”</p><p>“Great.”</p><p>You both stared at each other, unsure of what to say next. You made the first move, scooping up your purse from the ground. “Well, I should get back to work. Thanks again for the present.”</p><p>“Of course. Merry early Christmas.”</p><p>“Same to you!” you said as you headed out the door.</p><p> </p><p>xxxxxx</p><p> </p><p>Karen was watching Matt carefully in his office. “How are you doing, Murdock?”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Matt didn’t mean to sound testy. He’d heard the whole exchange, heard you say yes, heard the click of the door as you left.</p><p>“Please. You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried. But you really shouldn’t ruin this for Foggy. I think they could work really well together.”</p><p>“Who is saying anything about trying to ruin something?”</p><p>“It’s written all over your face. You would have challenged Foggy to a duel for her hand if you’d been given the chance.”</p><p>“I’m happy for him. She seems great.”</p><p>“She is great, Matt, and you know it. Please don’t bury these particular feelings away with the rest of your Irish emotions. It’s not healthy.”</p><p>Matt smiled humorlessly. “It’s worked so far.”</p><p>Foggy burst into the office. “She said yes! A date in the new year! Things are looking up for Nelson!”</p><p>Karen laughed. “I’m happy for you, Foggy. Where are you going to take her?”</p><p>“Don’t weigh me down with details! Let me ride this high!”</p><p>Matt clapped a hand on his shoulder, “Good for you, Foggy.” He found that, despite everything, he did mean that sincerely.</p><p> </p><p>xxxxx</p><p> </p><p>Leaving your office that night, you saw that a light was still on in the offices of Nelson and Murdock. Knocking on the door, you saw Matt barely visible behind stacks of papers.</p><p>“Hey, Matt, you heading out soon?”</p><p>He smiled. “Probably, although this particular case is a lot more nuanced than I first thought it would be.”</p><p>“Devil in the details and all that, I guess.”</p><p>You scuffed one shoe against the floor, trying to remember if you had anything in the fridge at home for dinner.</p><p>“I never gave you your Christmas present.” He turned and opened his desk drawer, pulling out a flat box.</p><p>“Oh, you really didn’t have to.”</p><p>“After you gave me a scarf that will single handedly save me from hypothermia the rest of this winter? Please.” He pushed the box towards you across the desk. </p><p>You opened the box. Nestled inside was a bracelet, set with a single opal. </p><p>“Oh. No. Matt. I can’t accept this, it’s too much.” you protested. You weren’t an expert in jewelry, but you were pretty sure this looked expensive.</p><p>“No, it’s yours. Really. And before you continue to say it’s too much, you should know that this was payment for a case I was <em>trying</em> to take pro bono. My clients owned a small jewelry storefront and insisted on paying me. Their youngest daughter slipped it into my bag when I had my back turned.”</p><p>You laughed. “Fine, only because that’s the backstory. It’s beautiful, Matt.” You slipped it on. </p><p>“I’ll have to take your word for it.” He grinned. “Although I double-checked with Karen that your birthday was actually in October. Apparently it’s bad luck to wear opals if they’re not your birthstone.</p><p>“Barely squeaked in --- born on Halloween. My mom used to call me her goblin girl.”</p><p>It already felt like something you’d worn every day for your whole life.</p><p>Thinking back on the story of the bracelet, an idea hit you.</p><p>“Hey, Matt, do you ever take pro bono clients now?”</p><p>“Foggy says that we do pro bono more often than not, which is what is going to run our practice into the ground. Why do you ask?”</p><p>“I have this...friend. He gets into scrapes sometimes and I was wondering if you would ever consider representing him if something went bad.”</p><p>Matt chose his words carefully. “What kind of scrapes does your...friend get into?”</p><p>“Oh, um, he doesn’t talk about it much, but it seems like it’s fights where he’s sticking up for someone. Is that a kind of case you would take?”</p><p>“It really depends.”</p><p>“Oh, okay, no worries. It’s really not a big deal. Thanks again for the bracelet!” With that, you scurried out the door, leaving Matt sitting thoughtfully in the dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>It hurts to love wide open<br/>stretching the muscles that feel<br/>as if they are made of wet plaster,<br/>then of blunt knives, then<br/>of sharp knives.</p>
  <p>-Marge Piercy, “To Have Without Holding”</p>
</div>Foggy paced nervously around the office, checking his watch and fiddling with his shirt buttons. Karen smiled gently at him from behind her desk where she was wrapping up the last of the day’s work.<p>“Foggy, you’re going to be fine. You know her, she knows you. It’s not like you have to sit through the normal first date hell of ‘where are you from? what do you do? do you have any siblings?’”</p>
<p>“See, I feel like that makes it almost worse. What if I totally screwed up our friendship by doing this?”</p>
<p>“Or what if you took a leap of faith to see if that friendship could turn into something even better?”</p>
<p>“You’re right.” He nervously patted his jacket pocket, making sure that his wallet and phone were in place. </p>
<p>“Of course she’s right. When have you ever known Karen to be wrong about anything?” Matt said as he came through the office door, dropping a couple of boxes of Chinese takeout on Karen’s desk as he went into his own office.</p>
<p>“I still feel bad that I’m leaving you guys with this big case. Are you sure you don’t want me to postpone?”</p>
<p>Karen walked over and placed a hand on Foggy’s upper arm. </p>
<p>“Foggy, relax. God knows you’ve earned an evening’s break from all of this. Take her out, have a great time.” Karen grinned. “You could even show her a great time if it works out like that.”</p>
<p>The crack that came from behind Matt’s office door was audible.</p>
<p>xxxxxxx</p>
<p>What the hell was wrong with him? He thought he’d made his peace with all of this, somewhere between mile 16 and mile 24 on the treadmill last Tuesday. The ruler that now lay in two pieces on his desk seemed to suggest otherwise.</p>
<p>You were a smart, kind, funny, generous, good-natured person who had found someone equally great to go on a date with. You were his friend, and Foggy was his friend, and he should be happy for you both. Instead he had spent the last few minutes thinking of flimsier and flimsier excuses to get Foggy to put this off indefinitely. </p>
<p>It was the damn dream.</p>
<p>Three nights ago, Matt had returned back from his rounds even later than normal --- there had been more muggings than usual --- and wanted nothing more than to shower and fall into the solid oblivion of sleep.</p>
<p>His subconscious, it would seem, had other plans.</p>
<p>
  <em>Matt was working late into the evening on a labor law case when he heard a crash from across the hall, followed immediately by an exclamation of “Shit!” and laughter.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>A moment later, he heard a tap at the office door. Opening it up, he discovered you in a more disheveled state than he’d ever sensed. The copper scent of blood hit him, and he tensed, fighting the urge to shift you behind his body while he identified the threat.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Are you injured? What’s wrong?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You laughed and held out a hand. “I broke a glass and cut my hand. I was wondering if you have any bandages.” The slur in your voice and wine on your breath made it fairly obvious what had led to the injury.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Sure. Over here.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You followed after him, trailing your non-bleeding hand along the surfaces of desks and counters as you went. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He opened one of the cabinets in the miniscule office kitchen while you watched him. After a minute of contemplation, you unsteadily hopped onto the counter, legs dangling off the edge. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“What are you doing?” Matt asked.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I figured it would be easier for you to bandage me up if I was up here.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Matt swallowed. “So you’re assuming that I am on-demand medical care in addition to legal counsel?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You leaned in, dropping your voice. “I think you’d be a lot of things for me if I let you.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>All of the air left Matt’s lungs. His cheeks burned. He reached for the bandages and gently grasped your hand, cleaning the wound (which luckily wasn’t very deep, he didn’t think it would scar) and wrapping the middle of your palm in layers and layers of gauze. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You didn’t say a word throughout the entirety of the process, only wincing a little when the cleaning antiseptic reached the cut. Stepping back from you, he offered his hand out to you to get down from the counter. Your jump was a little off, so he caught your waist with his other hand to steady you.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>For a single, crystal instant the entire world was still. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Then you reached up and pulled his face down to yours and kissed him. Your lips moved against his, teasing him, and with a small inhale, you deepened the kiss, biting down on his lower lip and making a sound that could never be considered holy. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Heat engulfed him and suddenly he had pushed you up against the nearest wall, trapping your hands above your head with his and pressing into you so that you felt the entire length of his body. Every muscle was straining to be in closer contact with your softness. And he was hard --- God, how did he get this hard this fast --- and you were panting and saying his name in ways that made him want to swallow you whole. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>And then the scent of wine on your breath hit him and he realized what the hell he was doing and what kind of state you were in. He backed away slowly, holding his hands up. Afraid that if he touched you for another instant there would be no going back. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You were still against the wall, taking deep breaths, watching him. As the moment stretched out, you ducked your head.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I’m sorry.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Matt’s head spun. “What? Why are you sorry?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I mean, I came in here and jumped all over you and you’ve been so nice to me and I’ve screwed it up. I should get going.” Taking small steps, you tried to scoot past him.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>His mind raced, “No. Wait.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You paused at the anxiety in his tone. He’d never wished for sight more than in this moment, so he would be able to read the look in your eyes.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You don’t have to want me, Matt. It’s fine.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He laughed in spite of himself. “You think I don’t want you? You think I can concentrate when the scent of your perfume is in my office, and that when the FedEx delivery guy flirts with you I don’t think of nine different ways to break his face? You think that I haven’t thought of all the different surfaces in the office where I could get you to say my name, to beg my name?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Your mouth is open in shock. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“It’s not --- God I swear it’s not you. Please.” He prayed that he would be able to find the right words. “It’s the alcohol. You’ve had enough to be intoxicated enough to injure yourself. And you’re young and alone at night and there are lots of words to describe men who take liberty with women in your circumstances and I don’t want any of them to ever apply to me.”</em>
</p>
<p>As he reached for your face in the dream, he abruptly woke up, tangled in sweaty sheets and still hard. </p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>You slowly opened the main door to the Nelson and Murdock office. Foggy smiled so brightly it made your heart glad just to see.</p>
<p>“You look lovely. Ready to head out?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much to everyone who has been giving kudos and leaving comments, particularly those who have left multiple comments on different chapters! It makes me really happy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>“‘Live like the wind,’ he said, ‘unfettered,<br/>
And love me while you can;<br/>
And when you will, and can be bettered,<br/>
Go to the better man.<br/>
For you’ll grow weary, maybe, sleeping<br/>
So long a time with me:<br/>
Like this there’ll be no cause for weeping –<br/>
The wind is always free.’”</p>
  <p>Countee Cullen, “The Wind Bloweth Where It Listeth”</p>
</div>Dinner was at one of the newer restaurants in the neighborhood. Foggy explained that Karen had mentioned it a few months back --- she knew one of the waitresses --- and he’d remembered that you’d studied abroad in Austria. It specialized in Alpine cuisine, and struck the right balance for a first date: cloth napkins but no candles at the table, subdued lighting but a lively bar area that advertised screenings of European soccer matches on Tuesdays and Thursdays.<p>You grinned when you saw pear schnapps on the menu. </p><p>“God, Foggy, remind me to never tell you about my third night in Vienna.”</p><p>“Have you ever known a lawyer to be able to resist a challenge like that?”</p><p>You both laughed. The conversation flowed easily, and the food was delicious. </p><p>During a lull in the conversation, you tapped your finger thoughtfully on your chin, looking around. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to New York City.”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Like this restaurant --- where else would we be able to find spaetzle this good four blocks over from where we work? I mean, when I first moved here, I used to roll my eyes at New Yorkers who never left the city. It just seemed so...provincial, you know? Like there’s a whole world out there and you want to stay on the same little island in the Atlantic? But I realized that the whole world comes to New York. I can’t count the number of times that I’ve had acquaintances from China or Sweden or wherever say things like ‘The best cha siu bao or pickled herring is the one my relatives make back home, but there’s this little shop in the East Village or the Upper West Side that has some that’s almost as good.’ There’s this one university think tank out of…England maybe? Anyway, they ranked, like, two hundred cities around the world based on their qualities as a global city and New York is an alpha plus plus, which is the highest ranking. The only other one in London. And…” You trailed off, suddenly aware that Foggy was looking at you with a light in his eyes, one corner of his mouth quirked up.</p><p>“What? Did I say something weird?”</p><p>“What? No! It’s just...I think it’s great that you know so many random things. Where do you learn all this? We have to do pub trivia night sometime.”</p><p>“I’m in a deep and complicated relationship with Wikipedia. Thinking about it now, I should have mentioned that prior to agreeing to this date. And I hate to break it to you, but my knowledge is just the wrong combination of obscure and in-depth to succeed at that. If the entire trivia night was based around the economic forces of the global black market for fine art, then I could both crush it and recommend several good academic journal articles on the topic. But usually they aren’t that specific.” You grinned.</p><p>“I will have to make some discreet suggestions to Josie to both start a trivia night and have it focus entirely on stolen Picassos” Foggy mused. </p><p>“If Josie’s starts a trivia night, it will no longer be the neighborhood shithole bar and we will be forced to seek an even grubbier and stickier hovel.”</p><p>Foggy clasped his hand to his chest, affronted. “You are only allowed to insult Josie’s once you set foot in it more than two times. I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them strictly.”</p><p>You arched an eyebrow. “Taking on the additional roles of judge, jury, and executioner, counsel?”</p><p>“Rent in this city ain’t cheap. Gotta work four jobs.” </p><p>Shaking your head and smiling, you returned to the last of your apple tart. </p><p>xxxx </p><p>Walking back to your apartment with Foggy, you were glad that you’d remembered both your scarf and your hat. January in this city was no joke. </p><p>You snuck a look at Foggy walking beside you. He had paid for dinner, saying that you were going to be the one who would have to explain to Anna Nelson that she had not raised a gentleman if you insisted on splitting the bill. God, he was a gentleman. And nice and funny and smart and all the other qualities that were supposed to check the boxes.</p><p>So why did your mind flash back to the image of Byron, sitting straight, jaw clenched, at your ridiculously tiny kitchen table in your apartment?</p><p>You mentally groaned. This is why hormones shouldn’t be allowed. Only sensible, caring partnerships between two well-suited individuals. You suddenly understood both Victorian novels and the concept of arranged marriages a lot better.</p><p>Well, if you couldn’t control the stupid chemical firings in your brain, you could sure as hell handle this in the mature and respectful way that Foggy deserved. When you arrived at the front door of your apartment building, you took a deep breath and faced him.</p><p>“Foggy…”</p><p>You could hear your voice shaking. In moments like these, you really, really hated being this young. You suddenly wished that you were twenty years older, with decades of past lovers and that this would be a conversation whose cadences were familiar to you. What if you totally fucked it up? What if you fucked <em>him</em> up?</p><p>“I...um...this was a really nice evening, and I really enjoyed your company, but I’m not sure I have the kinds of...feelings that I would need to go out with you further?” You winced at the sound of your tone rising at the end of the sentence.</p><p>Foggy nodded, eyes a little sad but kind. “I understand. And you absolutely have the right to say no, but I just want to make sure that you don’t want to go out again just to make sure? Sometimes these things take time.”</p><p>“Ummmm, thank you, but I really think we should just be friends.” Great, you are using every cliched line from every romantic drama show you’ve ever seen. You sent a quick request to the universe to send Thor and have him smite you to smithereens. </p><p>He nodded. “Of course. Well, I’m going to...uh...get going. I’ll see you around the office.” He gave you a slightly awkward one armed hug and waved as he walked away. </p><p>You walked up the stairs to your apartment. Once you got inside, you braced your back against the front door and slowly slid down to the floor. You hugged your knees.</p><p>You really hoped you hadn’t made a mistake.</p><p>xxxxxx</p><p>Matt hadn’t expected to fight any Russians that night. And in his defense, he hadn't been <em>looking</em> for them: he’d practically stumbled across a pair of them in a back alley. The first one went down like a sack of potatoes, but the second one had a lot more stamina. And could withstand a lot more blows.</p><p>The Russian laughed wetly after the latest punch from Matt, spitting out both blood and small chunks of teeth. “Ees that best you have,<em>d’yavol</em>?” He lashed out, landing a solid blow on Matt’s ribs.</p><p>“Not even close.”</p><p>The Russian laughed again. “Oh, vee are going to have fun with you. And your <em>kotyonok</em>. <em>Da</em>, Vladimir and Anatoly have plans for her.”</p><p>Matt shoved the man up against the wall, teeth bared. “What the hell are you talking about.”</p><p>“Your <em>kotyonok</em>, the young one you see in the streets. I do not see what fuss is, she is nothing special…” He didn’t have a chance to finish the sentence before Matt had slammed his head into the wall, knocking him unconscious. </p><p>Matt stood for a moment, heartbeat pounding in his ears. The Russians knew. They knew about you. </p><p>He had to find you.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Am trying to update at least weekly! Gosh, your feedback has been amazing. Thank you to everyone.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>In the last days of the fourth world I wished to make a map for<br/>
those who would climb through the hole in the sky. </p>
  <p>My only tools were the desires of humans as they emerged<br/>
from the killing fields, from the bedrooms and the kitchens. </p>
  <p>For the soul is a wanderer with many hands and feet.</p>
  <p>Joy Harjo, “A Map to the Next World”</p>
</div><p>Matt tore through the night, glancing off rooftops and fire escapes without a thought. Well, except for the ringing of the Russian’s voice in his head. </p>
<p>
      <em>Oh, vee are going to have fun with you. And your kotyonok. Da, Vladimir and Anatoly have plans for her.</em>
    </p>
<p>He was already crouched on your rooftop, ready to swing down and tap on your window when he remembered everything from earlier that evening: you, Foggy, the date.</p>
<p>Dammit all to hell.</p>
<p>What if you and Foggy were back at your place? Even if the two of you weren’t having sex (and Matt tried to bury the thought of that as quickly as possible), then there was a very good chance that he would face the home intruder defensive tactics of you and Foggy combined, at least up until you hopefully recognized him and called off the attack.</p>
<p>And in the best case scenario, where you recognized him and invited him in like some masked man knocking on your window at two in the morning isn’t the most insane thing that has ever happened to you, Matt would be putting you in the entirely unfair position of having to explain to a potential new romantic interest who Matt was.</p>
<p>
      <em>Oh, yeah, Foggy, this is Byron. Well, it’s not actually Byron but he won’t tell me his name and he hated the first nickname I gave him. Anyway, he beats up criminals and sometimes follows me on rooftops. Don’t worry, though, it’s totally platonic and he definitely doesn’t think about me when he’s showering. Nope, not even once. How often does he stop by my window at night, you ask? Well, this is actually the first time if you can believe it. </em>
    </p>
<p>Matt crouched on the edge of the roof, focusing his senses on the apartment below to try to get a better sense of the situation.</p>
<p>There was the steady heartbeat and the quiet, even breathing of one person sleeping. So either the date had ended at the doorstep, or Foggy had decided to not sleep over. Sending up a quick prayer of gratitude, Matt dropped onto the fire escape with a barely audible thud. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the window, whispering hoarsely,</p>
<p>“It’s me. Can you let me in?”</p>
<p>He sensed a shift in your heartbeat, and suddenly your breaths were quick and shallow. You got up out of bed and grabbed….something. Quietly, you moved to the window.</p>
<p>“Whoever you are, know that I am armed and I am calling the police.”</p>
<p>“No, don’t call the police! It’s me. I just need to talk.”</p>
<p>He heard the sharp intake of breath before you reached up to unlatch the window. Throwing up the sash, you looked out at him in disbelief.</p>
<p>“What the actual <em>fuck</em>, Byron. It is two o’clock in the morning. I was asleep. What if I’d had a gun?” </p>
<p>“I knew you didn’t have a gun. I’ve been in your apartment before. Can we please take this conversation inside?”</p>
<p>You stared at him for a full fifteen seconds before stepping aside, indicating with one hand that he was free to enter. He climbed in carefully, his foot bumping into the object you had grabbed.</p>
<p>“What is that?”</p>
<p>“Maasai spear. They use it to defend their herds against lions.”</p>
<p>“Why do you have a Maasai spear?”</p>
<p>You slammed the window closed with more force than was strictly necessary, flipping on a light switch as you turned back. “Oh no, you don’t get to ask the questions here. When I show up at <em>your</em> window and scare the hell out of you, then you get to ask the questions.”</p>
<p>Matt nodded. “I deserved that.”</p>
<p>You ran your hand through your hair in frustration. “Damn right.” You started to say something else, and then stopped with a sigh. “You scared me, Byron. I’m not angry --- I really don’t have that in me often, if at all. But you scared me.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t important.”</p>
<p>You shook your head. “I figured. Will I need tea to be able to process this?”</p>
<p>“It couldn’t hurt.”</p>
<p>He gave you your space, observing silently as you stood on tiptoes to fish a mug from the back of the cabinet, plugged your water heater in, shuffled through multiple packs of tea bags before settling on one. </p>
<p>Finally, you sat down at the table. “Sit, Byron. It’ll make me less nervous.”</p>
<p>He lowered himself into a chair, suddenly at a loss for how to begin.</p>
<p>“I had an encounter with a couple of men tonight.”</p>
<p>You stopped him. “What do you mean, encounter?”</p>
<p>“An altercation. One of them mentioned you.”</p>
<p>“Mentioned <em>me</em>? By name?”</p>
<p>“No, not by name. He called you...it doesn’t matter what he called you. I knew he was talking about you and he knew that I knew he was talking about you.”</p>
<p>“There were way too many pronouns in that last sentence.”</p>
<p>“...and he....threatened you.”</p>
<p>You set your mug down with a thunk. “He what? Wait, how does this guy know about me? And why would he threaten me if he was fighting you at the time?”</p>
<p>“He thought it would...bother me.” Matt involuntarily clenched a fist at the Russian’s words echoing in his brain. “And he was correct. Which is why I’m here.”</p>
<p>“Alright, I clearly --- through no fault of my own --- am not awake enough for this particular conversation. Some guy threatened me. Are we talking standard neighborhood crack addict or something worse?”</p>
<p>“Worse.”</p>
<p>“How much worse?”</p>
<p>Matt hesitated.</p>
<p>“Byron, I swear to God if you don’t tell me who is threatening me, I will use the Maasai spear on you and see if it works as well on ninjas as it does on lions.” Matt could sense the slight edge of panic in your voice. Your bravado was masking your fear.</p>
<p>“Russian mafia.”</p>
<p>You laughed involuntarily. “You’re joking.”</p>
<p>“You think I would joke about something like this?”</p>
<p>“The Russian mafia is after me?”</p>
<p>Matt shook his head. “The Russian mafia is after <em>me</em>, and they are willing to do whatever it takes to break me. Hurt whoever it takes.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” The silence stretched between the two of you, tense and fraught. </p>
<p>“I am not going to let them hurt you.”</p>
<p>You turned to stare out the windows at the rooftops for a second, before turning back to the table. “How many people are in the Russian mafia?”</p>
<p>Matt winced. “In the world? Hundreds of thousands.”</p>
<p>“How many of them are after me?”</p>
<p>“Two leaders here in New York.”</p>
<p>“And all the guys who report to them, right?”</p>
<p>“...yes.”</p>
<p>“And this isn’t, like, a ‘hold the person hostage in a lavish estate while explaining their entire evil plan and twirling their mustache and petting their cat’ situation, right? This is like, ‘scenes from Game of Thrones that I close my eyes through’, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Matt nodded. There was no point in hiding it from you. It would only put you at more of a disadvantage than you were.</p>
<p>You swallowed and looked at him. “Okay, now I’m scared.”</p>
<p>Hot fury raced through Matt’s veins. You were scared and it was his fault and it was the Russians’ fault and people were going to <em>pay</em>.</p>
<p>“I am not going to let anyone hurt you.”</p>
<p>“You could take on the entire Russian mafia?”</p>
<p>“For you? Yes.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.</p>
<p>You smiled for the first time that night. “You know what? I almost believe you.”</p>
<p>“But it’s not going to come to that. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you tonight. And then I’ve got an acquaintance that you can stay with while I deal with all of this.”</p>
<p>“Wait, I have to leave my apartment? And live with some stranger?”</p>
<p>“You know him too.”</p>
<p>xxxxxxxxxx</p>
<p>You woke up at the first light of dawn somehow even more tired. The memories of the conversation the night before came flooding back to you. Byron. The Russian mafia. Your suggested new living arrangement. </p>
<p>Well, there was definitely no going back to sleep after that. You dragged yourself through your morning routine and left the apartment shortly after 6am with a bagel and cream cheese clutched between your teeth.</p>
<p>You never got to your office this early. It felt slightly unsettling with the unfamiliar slant on sunlight on the floor and the sound of street sweepers outside. You paced back and forth until 7:30am, when you heard Matt’s cane in the hallway outside.</p>
<p>Better get this over with.</p>
<p>You slowly opened your office door. Hearing the sound, Matt turned around.</p>
<p>“Um, Matt, do you have a second?”</p>
<p>Matt nodded. “I think I know what you want to talk about.”</p>
<p>You frowned. “You do?”</p>
<p>Matt came over to your office, shutting the door behind him. “An old acquaintance of mine got in touch last night. Haven’t heard from him in a long time.”</p>
<p>So Byron had already talked to him. You’d been hoping to head this off at the pass --- there was absolutely no reason to involve Matt Murdock of all people in any of this. Shame and helplessness and irritation at Bryon washed over you in a wave, making you feel small and clumsy. “I’m really sorry...he didn’t talk to me first...I didn’t even know you knew him...I would never ask you…I hope you didn’t think that I asked him to…”</p>
<p>Matt held up his hand. He had his glasses on, but you knew that if you could see them, they would be very gentle. “Please. From what he told me, you are potentially in danger and that is more than reason enough to do whatever I can to help. I am just sorry that he has mixed you up in all of this. You deserve far better than that.”</p>
<p>“No! I mean, he didn’t do it on purpose.”</p>
<p>Matt’s lips thinned. “I think you give him too much credit.”</p>
<p>You tilted your head to the side. “How well do you know him?”</p>
<p>“Well enough to know that he should have known better.” He cleared his throat. “In any case, you are more than welcome to stay at my place while he is taking care of all of this.”</p>
<p>You felt tears at the corner of your eyes. “Matt, I don’t even know what to say. I can’t thank you enough.”</p>
<p>He smiled. “You say that, but you haven’t seen the billboard yet.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments --- ratseuphoria (omg your comments and also your profile pic), DawdlingTime (so many comments in a row!!), goldenbuckyhours, Kittengirl998, Kireina, thefriendlymushroom, kingkitten (your comment about your emotional maturity leveling up gives me life).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Tender events are meeting halves and wholes of affinity,<br/>the recurrence of whimsy and parallel streams<br/>flush away the blockage of malaise.<br/>Incessant gratitude, pliable kindness smolders<br/>in the husk of these sweet accumulations:<br/>abalone shells, the thoughtful carvings from friends,<br/>the stone of another’s pocket, the photo of mystified<br/>moon over water, the smiles of worn chairs.</p>
  <p>Elizabeth Woody, “Illumination”</p>
</div>Of course you couldn’t concentrate that day. You had a very complex technical manual you were supposed to be working your way through --- the deadline for turning in the final copy was three days from now --- but you just kept flicking from images of Byron to images of Matt in your head.<p>
  <em>“You know him too”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I think you give him too much credit”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“You know him too”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I think you give him too much credit”</em>
</p>
<p>You were going to murder Byron. How could he? Matt Murdock? He had his own law firm. He had his own life. He was <em>blind</em>, for God’s sake. He had enough in his life to worry about besides taking in the local neighborhood waif who had gotten too mixed up with what was looking more and more like (and this was your Southern grandmother’s voice in your head) “the wrong side of the tracks.”</p>
<p>Even her imagined voice sounded like peaches and institutional racism. Thanks, Grandma.</p>
<p>By five o’clock, you were mentally and emotionally drained. Luckily Matt couldn’t see your face when he knocked on your door.</p>
<p>“Ready to go?”</p>
<p>The walk to his apartment was brisk, if only because the worst of the January chill seemed to seep into your very bones. When the two of you finally arrived, he opened the door and gestured you in. You stepped inside, a little curious despite yourself to see what the abode of Matthew Murdock, Esquire looked like. </p>
<p>Your jaw dropped. This place was enormous. Your whole apartment could fit into the kitchen alone. </p>
<p>“Woah, who did you have to kill to get that many windows?” </p>
<p>A beat of silence and you blushed. Maybe he didn’t even know how many windows he had...</p>
<p>Matt laughed, seeming to relax for the first time since he’d knocked on your door after work.</p>
<p>He gestured at the light shining in from the window. “The co-op board nearly rioted. The upside is, nobody wanted it and I got a corner apartment at a hell of a discount.”</p>
<p>Walking over to one of the windows, you looked at the enormous, glaring billboard. You turned back to face Matt.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, it’s kind of poetic to me. Very post-post-post-modern urban aesthetic” you said with a smile.</p>
<p>“That’s Barnard talking. Your classrooms were probably so high up in those ivory towers you couldn’t even see the billboards.”</p>
<p>“Sounds like you’re jealous they wouldn’t have let you into my classes no matter how sweet you talked, counselor.”</p>
<p>His smile dropped slightly. “Wouldn’t have mattered, I think you were probably still learning your ABCs when I was starting college.”</p>
<p>“Dude, you can’t be <em>that</em> old.”</p>
<p>“I’m 36.” His tone had become oddly serious. Where was that coming from?</p>
<p>You stepped in front of him, chin lifted, one eyebrow arched. “Good, we need as many Gen-Xers on our side as possible. No point in starting a revolution that consists solely of millennials.”</p>
<p>That coaxed another smile from him. </p>
<p>xxxx</p>
<p>Matt had to remember to pick Father Lantom’s brain for details about the monastic life next time he was anywhere near his parish office. Surely there had to be thousands of years of wisdom for resisting temptations. Especially ones in the form of a bright-hearted woman currently laughing in his kitchen, trying to find the ingredients for muffins.</p>
<p>"Seriously? No eggs? It never fails to amaze me that New Yorkers never eat at home."</p>
<p>"Why would we? Best pulled noodles in the Western Hemisphere are at a food cart two blocks away."</p>
<p>"I was just saying the same thing to Foggy at dinner…" you said absentmindedly, still poking through cupboards. </p>
<p>Matt leaned an elbow on the counter, feigning nonchalance. "Oh yeah, I never asked you how the date with Foggy went."</p>
<p>"It was fine. It was good. It was…" you paused. "If I had anything but my fickle heart in charge of decision making, it would have been perfect." You winced and turned towards Matt. "I didn't mean anything against Foggy! Just that the spark wasn't there, you know? I know you're his best friend, but don't tell him any of that out of context. I mean, I already told him basically the same thing at the end of the dinner, and he was so nice about it."</p>
<p>"Don't worry, I wasn't going to say anything."</p>
<p>You suddenly dropped your face into your hands. "<em>Shit</em>, Matt, I've been so busy thinking about everything with Byron and the Russians that I completely forgot to tell Foggy and Karen that I'm staying with you for a few days! What if he thinks that I...that you…"</p>
<p>Matt cut you off. "Relax. Please. You're here so that hopefully you won't have to be stressed. I'll talk to Foggy and to Karen, if you'd like."</p>
<p>You shook your head sharply. Matt could hear the air whistling through your hair. "No, it should come from me. Especially with Foggy. I don't want him to get any kind of wrong idea. But maybe you could help me come up with some kind of explanation that isn't 'I am actively being hunted by the Russian mafia?'" </p>
<p>"Don't worry, I grew up in an orphanage. I know a few things about stretching the truth when necessary."</p>
<p>Having clearly given up on the dream of muffins --- the food supply chez Murdock just wasn't going to cut it --- you had pulled out a tin of cocoa powder of dubious origin and the last of the milk from the fridge. You were crouched on the floor searching for a small saucepan in the lowest cupboard next to the stove, but at the mention of the orphanage, you straightened up. </p>
<p>"Oh, I didn't realize you grew up in an orphanage." You shifted from foot to foot, obviously curious but refraining from asking for any details out of politeness to a potentially emotionally fraught subject. </p>
<p>"Yeah." Matt suddenly didn't feel like talking to anyone about anything. He had no idea why he'd brought up St Agnes. </p>
<p>You tilted your head, sensing the mental shift. "Can I cook dinner? I have to start somewhere in thanking you for letting me stay here. I've lived by myself a few times and I know how jarring it can be to suddenly have someone around all the time."</p>
<p>Matt didn't know how to tell you that even in this moment, when he wanted nothing more than to retreat to the sanctuary of his room and hide away from the world, he still wanted to bring you with him and bury his face in the crook of your neck and fall asleep with you tucked carefully against his side. </p>
<p>It started to rain, heavy drops against the many windows.</p>
<p>He let out a slow breath. </p>
<p>Suddenly kind but firm hands were gently pushing into his back, ushering him out of the kitchen. </p>
<p>"Go on. Take a bath, take a nap, whatever you need to do. I saw the ingredients for spaghetti and jar pasta sauce, if nothing else."</p>
<p>Matt started to protest. </p>
<p>You crossed your arms. "C'mon, Matt, take a break for a few minutes and let me do this one thing for you. I see you day after day killing yourself to help people." Matt's heart froze before he realized that you were referring to his legal work.</p>
<p>Your voice softened. "And if you don't want to do it for yourself, do it for me. Otherwise I will get grey hairs and send you the salon bill for restoring it to its glorious color."</p>
<p>Matt smiled and nodded his head in surrender. "A good lawyer always knows when he's been out-talked."</p>
<p>xxxx</p>
<p>You absentmindedly hummed as you stirred the pasta sauce. Matt had retired to his bedroom about an hour ago. In the meantime, you had gone to the corner store for an onion and some chili powder to give the sauce some actual flavor. </p>
<p>A final taste of the sauce confirmed that it was as good as it was ever going to get. Padding on socked feet across the living room, you went to let Matt know that dinner was ready.</p>
<p>He had left the door to his room halfway open, presumably in case of any spaghetti-related emergencies. The sight of him sprawled in bed gave you pause --- chest slowly rising and falling, the stress lines of his face softened in sleep. </p>
<p>You didn't have the heart to wake him. </p>
<p>Leaning against the doorframe, you watched him for a minute. </p>
<p>"I don't know how to thank you," you whispered softly to his sleeping form. "You should never have gotten mixed up in this. Honestly, I don't know how I got mixed up in this either. Byron has that kind of pull, I guess. You probably know that."</p>
<p>You paused. </p>
<p>"And I know the smart and sane thing would be to just leave and make this all a part of my rearview mirror. But when I look at him, it's like seeing lightning and starlight and a hurricane and the sunniest day in June all wrapped into one."</p>
<p>"It's just so hard to look away, you know? And I don't think I want to."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>A puppy is a puppy is a puppy.<br/>
He’s probably in a basket with a bunch<br/>
of other puppies.<br/>
Then he’s a little older and he’s nothing<br/>
but a bundle of longing.<br/>
He doesn’t even understand it.</p>
  <p>Then someone picks him up and says,<br/>
“I want this one.”</p>
  <p>- Mary Oliver, “How It Begins”</p>
</div>So defeating a significant chunk of the Russian mafia was taking longer than Matt had planned. This fact shouldn’t frustrate him as much as it did, but it was your life and well-being on the line and he was livid. It was affecting his work, his patience, everything. It had been three days since you had first come to stay with him and he wasn’t any closer to learning the locations of Anatoly and Vladimir, let alone <em>persuade</em> them to never even say your name again.<p>Karen had let him stew for the first couple of days, but called him out on it when he actually growled at her when she delivered the unfortunate news of a setback with one of the cases involving a minor. Her eyes narrowed and she spun on her heel to slam Matt’s office door shut, before turning back and walking up to where he was standing. Very close proximity.</p><p>“Look, Murdock, God knows I’m not the easiest person to be around but I swear if you get any more pissed off, you’re going to be looking for a new office manager. I don’t deserve to be treated like this, Foggy sure as hell doesn’t, and frankly it makes no sense.”</p><p>Matt said nothing.</p><p>“She’s living with you for at least another few days, for Christ’s sake! Shouldn’t you be ecstatic and pulling all your best Matt Murdock moves on her?”</p><p>It had been surprisingly easy to come up with a cover story for why you were staying with him. That first morning you had come to work together, you had explained to Foggy and Karen that a friend of yours had been apartment sitting while you went on a long weekend and had accidentally flooded the apartment. That friend happened to be Joelle Wilkinson, another summer associate at Landman and Zack and one of the few that Foggy and Matt genuinely liked. Joelle, naturally, felt terrible and pressed their mutual friend Matt into giving you a place to stay while your building management oversaw the renovation. </p><p>Foggy and Karen had been sympathetic and offered their own horror stories involving building upkeep: the elevator in one of Karen’s former apartment buildings had once decided to plunge from the third floor to the basement (thankfully when no one was in it). Foggy had once lived somewhere where the door at the end of the hall on the fifth floor just opened into thin air. He said the management justified keeping it by pointing out they kept it permanently locked with 6 deadbolts.</p><p>Foggy did pull Matt aside later that day to ask why Joelle hadn’t contacted him as well in regards to a place to stay. She had kept up with both of them after they parted ways, after all. Matt pasted the best sympathetic face he could muster and told Foggy that you had let Joelle know that it might be awkward to ask Foggy for that particular favor after the date you’d had. Foggy nodded, seemingly convinced. </p><p>But back to the present, where an irate Karen Page was pushing all of his wrong buttons.</p><p>He bit back another growl. This wasn’t Karen’s fault, this wasn’t Foggy’s fault, it was his fault for getting you mixed up in any of this. </p><p>The little voice in the back of his head that sometimes sounded like you piped up. <em>Surely this is the Russians’ fault, Matt? You’re not the one who wants to kill me just to get to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.</em></p><p>Semantics. He would tear down this city block by block if it meant never, ever having to put a handful of dirt on your grave.</p><p>“Look, I’m sorry. I’ve got some...personal stuff going on.”</p><p>Karen slowly unfolded her arms. “Do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>“No. But I’ll try to not let it interfere with work. Okay?”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>xxxxxxxxxxx</p><p>Well, you said to yourself as you dropped your keys on the counter in Matt’s kitchen, I guess this is my life now.</p><p>It was strange how quickly you had adapted to staying at Matt’s. You’d been nervous at first about cramping his style, but were pleased to learn that he was naturally straightforward about when he felt like having social interactions (some of the time) and when he would prefer to do his own thing (most of the time). You had dinner together and talked about your respective days, then Matt would head out to the gym and you would read or write in your journal. After he came back, he would settle into one of the chairs next to your couch where you were lounging, sometimes with a Braille book of his own, sometimes with the seemingly endless files from work.</p><p>You had asked him about the paperwork yesterday. “How much do you have to work during a typical week?”</p><p>He tilted his head and thought about it. “It’s one of those input-output situations, I think. The more work Foggy and Karen and I do, the more cases we can take on and the more good we can do. I want to do as much as I can while I’m still relatively young.”</p><p>You nodded. “My mom’s taught high school for the last 20 years. It’s a similar thing. There are definitely teachers that just do the bare minimum and do the exact same lesson plans every year, but Mom always said she was doing it to make a real difference in the kids’ lives and put in the extra hours to make that happen.”</p><p>Matt smiled. “Definitely sounds familiar.”</p><p>You pursed your lips and closed the book you were reading. “I haven’t found my...thing, you know? My vocation. Not the way that you and Foggy and my mom have. It’s really hard for me to choose when it comes to big life choices. I just start thinking about how I could be a nurse or a teacher or an artist or start my own nonprofit or work in humanitarian aid overseas and I end up feeling overwhelmed and sticking with my technical editing. Even though it’s not really making a positive difference in the world the way I want my work to.”</p><p>Matt leaned forward and said in a gentle voice, “You know you’ve only been trying to figure this out for a few years, right? You’ve got plenty of time. It took me more than ten years out of law school to work up the courage to set up my own firm with Foggy.”</p><p>You nodded. “I know, I know. I think I just need to give myself a deadline of, like, two years and then just make a choice then. Even if it’s not the right or the best one, at least it’ll be a start.”</p><p>“I think that sounds like a great idea.”</p><p>xxxxxxxx</p><p>You woke with a start that night. Your phone was buzzing insistently, moving slowly across the dresser. Trying to blink the fog of sleep from your mind, you pressed your phone to your ear.</p><p>“H’lo?”</p><p>“Ah, so good of you to answer phone on first ring. So many youth just ignore, ignore, ignore. Straight to voicemail. Most rude.”</p><p>You sat up. The accent on the other end was Eastern European. </p><p>“Who is this?”</p><p>“Ah, that does not matter, <em>kotyonok</em>. What matters is who ve have, which is your friend Matt.”</p><p>Your heart froze. You forgot to breathe.</p><p>“You what?”</p><p>“Ah, I see that catches your attention. If you vant him returned unharmed, you vill meet us. Alone.” The voice rattled off an address as you tried to bury the panic as quickly as possible. They had taken Matt. They wanted you and they couldn’t get to you and so they’d taken Matt. All to get to Byron. </p><p>The phone line abruptly went dead. You dropped it onto the bed, immobilized. Then you tore out of your room and threw open Matt’s bedroom, praying that he was there and that the whole thing was a mistake or a prank or some kind of psychological torture.</p><p>Moonlight fell on the neatly-made, empty bed. You sank to your knees. </p><p>You mentally slapped yourself. Get it together. They’ve got Matt and they are doing God knows what to him and you have to get there. You knew it was a trap, that they wouldn’t let him go once they had you, but you for damn sure weren’t going to spend the rest of your life running the what-if scenarios over and over in your head.</p><p>You snatched up your purse, your mace, your rape whistle. It seemed like an almost hollow gesture, but it might give you the slightest edge and you would need every one of those you could get.</p><p>Before you ran out of the loft, you fired off a quick text. <em>They’ve got Matt. I need your help.</em></p><p>xxxxxxxx</p><p>Matt’s phone buzzed and he frowned. He was on a rooftop, scouting a couple of men who seemed like they were planning a mugging. His heart stilled when he realized it was the burner phone.</p><p>After telling you that night (only a few days ago but felt like ages longer) that he thought you should stay with Matt, he had scribbled down a number and pressed it into your hand.</p><p>“Use this for emergencies.”</p><p>You had solemnly nodded and folded up the Post-It note into a tiny square before slipping it into your wallet behind your driver’s license.</p><p>The phone buzzed again. A second text. He quickly flipped the phone open and pressed a button. A stilted female voice read your text aloud. He played it twice, just to be certain.</p><p>The bastards were going to get you. </p><p>xxxxxxxxx</p><p>You stopped at the start of the pier you’d been instructed to go to. Did anything good ever happen at a pier between the hours of 10pm and 4am? You suspected not.</p><p>Two men emerged from the shadows. Your simultaneous emotions were that of slight relief --- there were only two of them --- and stomach-clenching dread --- they both looked a lot bigger and scarier than you had been hoping for. You mentally rolled your eyes at that last thought. Like the Russian mafia would send their smallest, cutest enforcers to kidnap and/or kill you.</p><p>The one on the left spoke first.</p><p>“You were fast to get here.”</p><p>You nodded, not sure if speaking was a good or bad idea. You decided to shut up until talking seemed like it would actually help you.</p><p>The one on the right seemed to regard you, tilting one head to the side. “She is prettier than picture.” </p><p>Lefty seemed to give an imperceptible shake of the head. “She is for Anatoly. We deliver, nothing else.”</p><p>Righty took a step towards you, then another one. “Little taste hurts no one.”</p><p>You braced yourself, trying to remember the specifics of the self-defense class you’d taken as an elective in college, as Righty slowly advanced on you. Suddenly, a shadow dropped seemingly out of the sky and went for Lefty, who went down with a cry and the sickening snap of bone.</p><p>Your breath came out all in a rush. <em>Byron.</em> </p><p>Lefty let out a roar and swung at the masked man. He deftly dodged the attack, spinning away and letting out another vicious kick to Lefty’s side. You shrank back, trying to get lost in the shadows away from the fracas. </p><p>Righty had other ideas. He grabbed you and pulled a blade out, pressing it to your throat, before whirling around to face Byron.</p><p>“Drop your weapons and surrender or ve kill her.”</p><p>“Byron, they’ve got Matt!”</p><p>Byron slowly put down his baton and raised his hands. He took a step towards you and Righty, which caused Righty to press the blade hard enough against your throat that it made you wince.</p><p>Byron stood stock still for a minute and then slowly, deliberately nodded his head.</p><p>Suddenly, you remembered.</p><p>
  <em>It had been just before Christmas, after your first fight with Byron about whether you should continue to see each other given the danger that the masked man brought with him wherever he went. You were sitting on a fire escape with him, you eating noodles from a takeout container, him studying the neighborhood below with a laser focus that scared you a little bit. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You offered him noodles with your chopsticks ---- “even masked vigilantes have to eat” ---- but he had politely refused. Suddenly, an idea popped in your head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We should have a sign.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What are you talking about?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Your enemies will probably come after me, ri----”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m not going to let them.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You rolled your eyes. “I know that. But in the unlikely event that you are unable to fend off every single criminal who has a grudge against you in the city, and we end up in a situation where I’m in trouble, we should have a sign.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“So I know you’re in trouble?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No, you’re there fighting bad guys, obviously. I’m talking if I get snatched and used as a human shield or a bargaining chip.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The railing of the fire escape creaked as Byron’s fingers clenched around it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You put a hand on his shoulder. “I know this is hard to talk about. But it’s better to be prepared, right? So from a self defense standpoint, what’s the best thing I can do if I’m being held against my will?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Byron pondered this for a moment. “Go limp and drop your center of gravity. It’s already pretty low, because you’re a woman and shorter than average, so it’ll break most attacker’s concentration, if not their hold. That would give me an opportunity.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“An opportunity to do what?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Byron bared his teeth. “To teach them what happens when they touch you.”</em>
</p><p>At Byron’s nod, you fought every instinct to claw and fight to go limp in Righty’s hold. The knife slipped up and away from your throat as he scrambled for a minute to gain a good hold again. Byron launched himself at Righty. You were knocked to the side and scrambled away. You slumped against the nearest wall.</p><p>It was a bloodbath. Carnage. You couldn’t look away. </p><p>When both Righty and Lefty were clearly unconscious and it looked like Byron was going to keep going, you opened your mouth to plead with him to stop. What came out was a croak.</p><p>Byron walked towards you, his lower face streaked with blood, and reached for you. </p><p>You flinched.</p><p>xxxxxxxxxx</p><p>Matt couldn’t see your flinch, but he could hear your heart speed up, sense your muscles coiling as you instinctively prepared to defend yourself.</p><p>From him.</p><p>It made him sick. </p><p>He dropped his hand, eased into a crouch so he was lower than you. Spread his hands open wide. </p><p>Someday he was going to be able to stop having to prove to you that he wasn’t dangerous. He was going to be able to tell you how much you meant to him. But he’d just let more of the devil out than he’d had in a long time. He’d forgotten you were watching, he’d forgotten everything except that <em>they’d had you, they’d touched you, and they needed to pay.</em></p><p>Explaining that to you wasn’t going to help. You were quickly descending into shock --- shaking, breathing quickly. He talked in a low voice.</p><p>“We need to get out of here. I’ll take care of you. You’re safe now.”</p><p>“You...they...are they going to be okay?”</p><p>Matt’s heart ached. Of course you asked that question. Of course you were used to a world where no one deserved to get hurt, that you prayed to your deity of choice that everyone be healed.</p><p>“They’ll live. But they’re not important now. You’re the one who’s important.”</p><p>You nodded, slowly. You allowed Matt to pick you up, help get you home.</p><p>xxxxxxx</p><p>It was near dawn, a couple of hours later. You were wrapped up in blankets, finally sleeping after a strong cup of lemon tea liberally laced with brandy. You’d accepted his explanation that Matt had been with Byron at the time you’d gotten the phone call, which is how Byron had known it had been a trap. You had kept your door open, wanting the light from the hall to spill in. </p><p>Matt was pacing the length of the window wall. Back and forth, back and forth, cell phone in hand. He could have lost you. And as much as he hated the next step he was going to have to take, he would do it a thousand times over to keep you safe.</p><p>He pressed a button on the phone and held it up to his ear. It rang once, twice, and then a man picked up on the other line.</p><p>“Double-D’s, I thought I’d never have the privilege of actually hearing from you. Luckily, I clean my Devil of Hell’s Kitchen shrine daily in case you decide to drop by so you don’t think I’ve forgotten you.”</p><p>“Cut the bullshit, Stark. I need a favor.”</p><p>All gaiety dropped from Tony Stark’s voice. “I’m listening.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Took a couple of weeks to get a new chapter up --- the whole of Oregon's been on fire the last two weeks, which was occupying most of my mental space. I wrote an extra-long chapter to make up for it!</p><p>It will start to get more and more AU from here as Tony Stark and the other Avengers are introduced. </p><p>Thank you so much as always for your kind comments, kudos, and just for reading :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,<br/>And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;<br/>And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,<br/>And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.</p>
  <p>I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide<br/>Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;<br/>And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,<br/>And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.</p>
  <p>John Masefield, “Sea Fever”</p>
</div>Byron and Matt had clearly swapped watch duties while you were sleeping, because it was the blind lawyer who knocked gently on your door at 8:30am, asking if you had any urgent need to go to the office because you should definitely take the day off and he’d be happy to stick around the loft to keep you company. You’d shuffled to the bedroom door, wincing and glad that Matt couldn’t actually see your bedhead (although a quick breath into your palm revealed morning breath that left a lot to be desired).<p>You decided to take him up on his offer, and went to go wash your face and brush the lingering scent of brandy and lemon out of your mouth. When you switched on the light, though, you let out an involuntary soft cry. </p>
<p>Matt was behind you in an instant. “Is something wrong?”</p>
<p>Wordlessly, you reached for your throat, which bore the distinctive marks of fingers, and a thin, ugly red line where the knife cut your skin the night before. Your eyes filled with tears as a feeling you couldn’t quite articulate raced through you.</p>
<p>“It’s...um...I didn’t realize it had left a mark” you said, gesturing vaguely toward your neck. You realized an instant later that Matt couldn’t have seen what you were pointing at. </p>
<p>But he heard the movement of your hands and nodded carefully. “Does it hurt? Can I get you an ice pack?”</p>
<p>You shook your head, trying to piece together what you were feeling. “It just --- I mean --- it just makes me look like a...victim? Like people are going to know what happened, or they’re going to think they know what happened. They’re going to think I’m in an abusive relationship, or a really sketchy quasi-BDSM thing? And not that either of those are wrong, but they’re not me, and I don’t want them to be me, and I don’t want people---” you stopped, crouching slowly until you were sitting on the floor of the bathroom, overwhelmed. “Shit, I just really need to process this. I’m going to see if my therapist has any room for an emergency meeting today.”</p>
<p>Matt crouched down next to you, until his glasses were level with your eyes. “I think that’s smart. I can walk you there.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Matt, you really don’t have to.”</p>
<p>“Please. It’s the least I can do. If I’d actually bothered to leave a note saying where I was going last night ---” he made a gesture of helpless frustration, reaching towards your neck before dropping his hand abruptly.</p>
<p>You smiled a little. “It’s a full-time job, talking you and Byron out of your needless guilty feelings.”</p>
<p>That made the side of his mouth quirk up. “I’m Catholic, it comes with the territory.”</p>
<p>“Alright, then, Man of Christ, let me get ready and see if my therapist has time to unpack the enormous can of worms I am about to present her with.”</p>
<p>xxxx </p>
<p>Matt walked beside you on the way to your therapist’s office, careful to remember to use his cane and not watch you like the fiery outline of your body was the only thing he could focus on. He’d been spending enough time around you as both Byron and Matt that it was all starting to blur together. All his walls separating the different parts of his life cracked when he was with you. </p>
<p><em>Just get through this, Murdock. Take care of the Russians and make sure she’s safe and then sit down and tell her how you feel.</em> Matt snorted mentally. Based on how hard he’d had to fight the urge to touch you in the bathroom this morning, there would be very little talking involved. Just lips and teeth and rib cages and insides of thighs and…</p>
<p>“Well, this is me.”</p>
<p>You had stopped in front of a building while Matt had been imagining you underneath him on his bed, one hand grasping the silk sheets as you arched your back. Damn, the things you did to him.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re okay with this? I’m more than happy to wait in the lobby or the waiting room of your therapist.”</p>
<p>“Please, Matt, I know you’ve got work. Besides, it’s good for me mentally to get away from everyone. Get some perspective.” You blew out a slow breath. “Shit, I wish I didn’t have to traverse the minefield of my brain sometimes.”</p>
<p>God knows he knew the feeling. “You can do it. I know you can.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” you replied with a smile. </p>
<p>And then you were gone, the faint scent of sunscreen the only thing that remained. Karen teased you for being the only person in all of New York City who wore sunscreen every day, even in the dead of winter, and you laughed and said that you were playing the long game and you were going to have the skin of a fertility goddess when everyone else had turned into withered old crones. </p>
<p>Steeling himself, he made his way across Hell’s Kitchen towards Manhattan, where he had an appointment with the last person he’d ever thought he’d be asking for help.</p>
<p>Tony Stark had come sniffing around Hell’s Kitchen once Matt’s antics had reached a certain profile --- read: once organized crime had begun swearing blood oaths to draw and quarter the Devil if they ever caught him. Matt’s secret identity was solid, but not “billionaire with the world’s best private investigators not to mention an AI butler who Matt’s pretty sure could read the entire internet in an afternoon” solid. He hoped that it had taken Stark at least fifteen minutes longer than anticipated to crack it. </p>
<p>(Cut to you lounging on his couch, bare feet hanging over the back, telling the legend about how the Dutch were so proud that it took Hitler three times longer than he’d planned to conquer the Netherlands --- three days instead of one.)</p>
<p>Stark had been looking for people like Matt to shore up the Avengers, to make sure whatever horrors he had seen in space never touched land. He was all bravado and money, taking Matt out to the kind of club that he was pretty sure produced its own designer drugs, trying to convince the lawyer to join his superhero clique. The bruised ribs Matt had earned the night before had sent jolts of pain every time he moved, reminding him just how little of a superhero he was. Skilled? Yes. Stubborn? Unquestionably. Able to know when Stark was bullshitting better than anyone this side of Pepper Potts? Absolutely. But a super soldier, master assassin, or demi-god? Not this man. </p>
<p>For all that, though, Iron Man had taken Matt’s refusal with at least a modicum of grace, and he hadn’t heard from him since. Everything that went down with the Mandarin and the Winter Soldier probably had something to do with that. Matt assumed that even plutocrats were minorly inconvenienced when an assassin who’d been shaping world history since the Roosevelt administration showed up.</p>
<p>He didn’t even want to think about all the Hail Marys that had been a direct result of his interactions with Tony Stark. Father Lantom had been really keen on the removing of the log from one’s own eyes before pointing out the specks in others. Matt couldn’t even see and he knew that Tony Stark was just logs all the way down. Logs of gold.</p>
<p>Bastard.</p>
<p>He just had to remember you. You’re the reason he’s doing this. </p>
<p>He was greeted instantly upon walking into the Avengers tower by an executive assistant of some kind whose entire demeanor screamed efficiency. One of the minor perks of wearing his glasses and having his cane is that he is instantly recognizable to anyone waiting for him. He really should try online dating just for that: <em>I’ll be wearing the red scarf and be the only blind man within a ten-block radius.</em></p>
<p>He was checked in and on the elevator before he knew it, stomach dropping as the elevator climbed dozens of stories, stopping at what Matt assumed was a fairly restricted level. He emerged and turned towards the sound at the end of the hall.</p>
<p>“Ah, the angel’s here!”</p>
<p>Tony strode toward him, texting rapidly, before stopping to look him up and down. “You know, I really thought the Devil would have more style. Inventing rock and roll and all that. Don’t know exactly how you manage to seduce half the virgins in the world with that particular combination of shirt and jeans.”</p>
<p>“Stark.” It was a greeting. And a warning.</p>
<p>“Relax, Double-D’s. No need to get your forked tail in a twist.” He led Matt into a lounge that Matt assumed had multi-million dollar views of the skyline.</p>
<p>“Let me say, it was a shock to see your fallen angel name on my phone last night.”</p>
<p>“There are extenuating circumstances.”</p>
<p>“Also, there’s no need for the ‘Timmy down a well’ vibes in here,” Tony said, gesturing at Matt’s cane. “I know you’ve got laser vision and can hear my lovely Pepper shaking her head at the way that I greet my guests. Pepper, darling, I’ve seen Old Scratch here take down ten very armed mob enforcers. The only thing behind those glasses is a third eye somewhere.”</p>
<p>Matt sensed Pepper approaching. “Mr. Murdock, it’s nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>“Miss Potts, the pleasure is mine.”</p>
<p>“Please, call me Pepper. Can I get you anything --- tea, coffee?”</p>
<p>“No, thank you. And please, call me Matt.”</p>
<p>Tony sat one one of the sofas, gesturing for Matt to sit as well before draping both arms across the back of the sofa. Pepper had her tablet out and was typing away.</p>
<p>“You were pretty cagey over the phone, Devil, what exactly is it you think you can get from me?”</p>
<p>“I need two Russian mafia leaders put away for good.”</p>
<p>“Gotta say, I like your style. ‘Put away for good.’ Very Pablo Escobar. The problem is that this sounds like messy domestic politics that would involve attorneys general and drab courtroom hearings, and not like the glitzy alien space invaders that the Avengers specialize in.”</p>
<p>“I’ll join your team.”</p>
<p>Tony paused, giving him a measured look. “You’ll join the Avengers?”</p>
<p>“Not in any full-time capacity -- I’ll still have my law firm --- but yes.”</p>
<p>Tony studied him further. “Murdock, you told me to go to hell last time we talked. What’s changed?”</p>
<p>“They have someone in their crosshairs I need to keep safe.”</p>
<p>“Ah, the damsel in distress. Or dude. I shouldn’t assume, right Pep? Isn’t that what all those HR trainings were going on about? So we make sure that Vlad the Impaler stays far away from the Devil’s lover and in exchange you’ll fight missions with us?”</p>
<p>Matt tensed. “She’s not...we’re not involved. She works across the hall from me and got dragged into this.”</p>
<p>“You’re killing the buzz, Murdock. ‘Coworker across the hall’ has a lot less of a punch than ‘one true love’.” He continued on before Matt could get a word in. “In any case, shouldn’t be too difficult. Give me a week.”</p>
<p>“She doesn’t have a week.”</p>
<p>Pepper chimed in. “We can keep her safe. She’s got a background in technical editing, yes? We’ve hired contractors to live and work on site to do similar classified work, especially if it’s the first time they have national security clearance. She can be in the Tower until it’s handled.”</p>
<p>For the first time since the docks, Matt felt his shoulders relax. “Thank you, Miss Potts.”</p>
<p>“Pepper, please.”</p>
<p>“I see, no ‘thanks Mr. Stark for providing the Tower and the political clout to make two high-ranking foreign nationals just go away’” Tony shook his head.</p>
<p>Matt stood. “Stark. I owe you.”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry, buddy, I collect my debts.”</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>You emerged from your therapist’s office, drained but a bit better. Matt was waiting for you on a bench outside. </p>
<p>You checked to make sure that your scarf was firmly in place. </p>
<p>“Thanks for waiting, I really appreciate it. Do you mind if I check my email while we walk back? I’m waiting on the umpteenth round of edit approvals for this one manual.”</p>
<p>Matt nodded and you pulled out your phone. You quickly scrolled through --- junk, junk, reminder to donate to the local food pantry, junk, an email from your dad with no subject line because “You don’t need a subject line, I’m going to tell you everything in the email anyway”, junk --- and then you stopped in your tracks.</p>
<p>“What the heck?” You clicked on the email from Stark Industries. Subject line: Editing Contract Proposal.</p>
<p>
  <em>Please see the attached contract, terms, and conditions for a temporary, independent contractor position at Stark Industries. Note that the classification level of duties and responsibilities are such that continued presence at Stark Industries Tower (SIT) in Manhattan is mandatory for the duration of the contract, the length of which shall not exceed 21 days. All accommodations will be provided as part of this contract...</em>
</p>
<p>You downloaded the PDF before you’d even considered if this was just a scam. Too late now. But the document looked legit. It was 47 pages long, full of legalese, with at least three separate references to the fact that “extraterrestrial attacks, invasions, or other acts of hostility shall be considered an act of God.”</p>
<p>“Matt, what’s an indemnification clause?”</p>
<p>“Basically it protects one party when there are risks associated with non-performance, misconduct, or negligence of duties. Why?”</p>
<p>“I think I just got a contract with Stark Industries?” You winced at the rise in tone at the end of your statement.</p>
<p>“Wow, really? Congratulations.”</p>
<p>“Thanks? It’s just...I don’t know how I got it?” </p>
<p>“You’ve done work with other major companies in the city, right? The world’s really small, I bet some VP just recommended you to another VP.” </p>
<p>You frowned. “I guess. What do you think ‘continued presence at Stark Industries Tower is mandatory for the duration of the contract’ means?”</p>
<p>“It means you’ll live onsite. It can be part of contracts for classified work through government agencies and government contractors. Basically to prevent you from walking off with state secrets at the end of the workday.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“Are you going to take it?” There was a faint tone in Matt’s voice that you couldn’t figure out. </p>
<p>“I mean, if it’s legit, yeah.”</p>
<p>“Well, then that sounds like something to celebrate. Let’s see if Foggy and Karen are around to go to lunch.” </p>
<p>xxxx</p>
<p>A few hours later, you were standing in front of Stark Tower. Foggy and Matt had insisted on going over your contract pro bono to make sure that you weren’t being screwed over. You weren’t sure how that was even possible --- the contract was for more money than you’d ever earned in six months, let alone for what should amount to a one-week job --- but you had let them pore over it at lunch. Both lawyers had grudgingly admitted it was a fair contract, and with the approval of Nelson and Murdock law firm, you stopped by your apartment to pack a bag of clothes and toiletries. </p>
<p>You didn’t notice Matt tailing you. He hadn’t allowed you to notice.</p>
<p>Once again, you double-checked that your scarf was concealing your injuries.</p>
<p>A man with what appeared to be very nice shoes checked you in and went over the details of the contract with you. The next hour passed in a blur of HR meetings, initialing what seemed like hundreds of pages of documents, and providing every form of identity short of a sworn testimonial from your mother that you were, in fact, her child. At last, you were shown your quarters, where you would spend your time when you weren’t working in the archives. </p>
<p>Oh man, the view was nice. Maybe there was some way they would let you rent this after the contract was done. It was comfortable and spacious, with the ambience of a very upscale airport hotel. You wondered how many contractors had lived here before you.</p>
<p>(“The onsite company dining hall is of course available to you during the duration of your contract, and your particular contract also allows for room-service-style ordering of food, either from the company dining hall or outside establishments,” the helpful HR man had told you.)</p>
<p>Well, this was your home for the next few days.</p>
<p>(“Leaving the premises during the duration of your contract is strictly prohibited, and will result in the breaking of the contract as well as legal action. Guests are not allowed and will not be cleared by security.”)</p>
<p>Once you had unpacked and set up your toothbrush in one of the glasses provided in your bathroom, you rebraided your hair and went to find the archives. As you stepped off the elevator onto what you hoped was the right floor, you turned right and nearly ran into someone.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>“No problem.” It was Tony Stark. Oh my god. What was it that your grandmother had once said when you had both seen a famous actor in the lobby of a hotel? <em>Oh yes, it’s Mr. Hollywood, but we’re going to play cool about it.</em></p>
<p>Tony squinted at you. “You don’t seem familiar.”</p>
<p>“I’m new. I mean, I’m not even new. I’m just on a contract. Temporary contract. Mr. Stark. Sir.”</p>
<p>Recognition dawned and his gaze sharpened. It shifted down to your throat, where your scarf has slipped, exposing the bruises and angry red marks. The briefest flash of anger crossed his eyes and then it was gone, replaced by playboy ennui. You cleared your throat and awkwardly wrapped your scarf up again.</p>
<p>He got on the elevator. You were alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>In terms of timeline, I am assuming that the Nelson and Murdock firm started in summer 2014 and it is now late winter / early spring of 2015, and that events of every MCU movie released prior to late winter 2015 have therefore already happened.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> I had a dream, which was not all a dream.<br/>The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars<br/>Did wander darkling in the eternal space,<br/>Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth<br/>Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;<br/>Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day</p>
  <p>Lord Byron, “Darkness” </p>
</div>You stood and stretched, walking the length of the room and back. It had been a few hours since you'd located the office where you would be spending the next few days. You didn't have to start your editing until the next day, but the idea of just hanging out in your living quarters for the remainder of the evening had made your skin itch.<p>Luckily, the work was just complicated enough to keep you absorbed, but not so maddeningly complex that you would have to throw your company-issued laptop into the nearest wall. Not that you would. The laptop probably cost more than you were going to make doing this job. </p>
<p>"J.A.R.V.I.S.?"</p>
<p>"Yes, miss?"</p>
<p>(The HR man had frowned and double-checked the contract when he got to that particular clause. "You will have access to the artificial intelligence system known as J.A.R.V.I.S. to assist you with your work or any other issues you encounter during the duration of your contract." He seemed bemused. </p>
<p>"Is something wrong?"</p>
<p>"No, not at all. It's just not...a standard clause for contractors of your level.")</p>
<p>"Can you confirm the technical particulars of this?" You read a long sentence that contained four separate clauses. </p>
<p>"Everything is correct."</p>
<p>"Thank you." A thought occurred to you. “J.A.R.V.I.S., you can, like, multi-task, right? Help the Avengers save the world and provide me a definition at the same time?”</p>
<p>“I am capable of executing as many functions simultaneously as my substantial processing power allows, yes.”</p>
<p>You nodded. “Good. I hope you know that you have my full permission to tell me that my stuff can wait if you need more processing power to defuse a nuclear bomb or something.”</p>
<p>The amusement was almost perceptible in J.A.R.V.I.S.’s response. “I greatly appreciate that.”</p>
<p>“Alright, I’m going to head back to my room. Good night, J.A.R.V.I.S.” You paused. “Wait, I guess you are in the whole building? So we never have to say goodbye?”</p>
<p>“I am accessible anywhere on these premises, yes.”</p>
<p>“Nice.”</p>
<p>xxxxxxx</p>
<p>Matt stood in front of your door in the Tower, decked out in full Daredevil gear, a raised fist prepared to knock. He really shouldn’t be here. Or he really should? God, you scrambled his brain. </p>
<p>Pepper had pulled him aside when he was leaving the meeting, and had slipped him one of her business cards. On the back was the floor and room number where you would be staying during your time in the Tower.</p>
<p>Her tone had been very gentle. “In case you need to visit her.” </p>
<p>Okay, all he had to do was tell you. Tell you that he was Byron and he was Matt and neither of his personas could think straight when you were around. And yes, he’d lied to you for months and yes, he’d followed you home that one time, and yes, he was really sorry that he did that and he had no right to do it but he would have gone crazy worrying about you if he hadn’t. Not that you weren’t 100% capable of taking care of yourself, obviously, but there’s a difference between getting home safe after a bar crawl and evading the Russian mafia. And it was him who’d put you in harm’s way. The Russians wouldn’t even know you existed if it weren’t for him. </p>
<p>Oh, yeah, and he’d put out a vague hit on two men to keep you safe. He’s pretty sure Stark wasn’t going to actually have them killed. Also he’d convinced the head of a major corporation to give you a job so that you could be in a secure location while said men were being taken care of. You were absolutely qualified for the job, though, and would have gotten it anyway without Matt going to Tony Stark directly. Most likely.</p>
<p>Maybe he wouldn’t lead with that one.</p>
<p>Shit.</p>
<p>He knocked, quickly.</p>
<p>You opened the door and Matt heard you gasp softly. You reached out and grabbed his arm, checking to make sure no one had seen him, and then yanked him inside.</p>
<p>“Byron!” you whispered fiercely. “You’re not supposed to be here!”</p>
<p>Matt was confused. </p>
<p>“It’s in my contract --- they’ll void everything if I have visitors.”</p>
<p>He relaxed. “Oh. That. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got security clearance.”</p>
<p>You didn’t seem totally convinced, but clearly decided to risk it. You let go of his arm.</p>
<p>“What are you doing here? Can I get you something to drink?”</p>
<p>“No, thanks. And I came here to see you.”</p>
<p>You smiled. “I really appreciate that. C’mon, I was just getting dinner together. They said I could order whatever I wanted from anywhere but I felt super weird about that. So I got cold cuts and bread and salad and stuff from the dining hall and I’m putting together a smorgasbord.”</p>
<p>Matt let himself be guided to the table. He sat down as you brought over plate after plate of food.</p>
<p>“Also, you’ll never believe it. I ran into Tony Stark. Iron Man.” You sounded awestruck in a way he hadn’t heard from you before. </p>
<p>If Stark had pulled any of his playboy charm schtick on you, Matt was going to kill him.</p>
<p>“I mean, he didn’t say anything to me, really. I just bumped into him after I got off the elevator.”</p>
<p>Not that you could be faulted for falling for any of the Stark dazzle if he’d decided to dish it out. And Matt would have been insulted on your behalf if Stark hadn’t noticed your laughter and spark and not been drawn to you like Matt had been since that first day. His jaw clenched. </p>
<p>Jealousy, even based on pure imagination, was an unhelpful thing. </p>
<p>“But seriously, thank you for coming over. It means a lot to me.” you said, shaking him from his reverie.</p>
<p>“I had to see how you were doing. I had to know you were safe.”</p>
<p>Matt really hoped he hadn’t imagined the way your heartbeat sped up when he said that.</p>
<p>“That’s really thoughtful of you. Thank you. It’s been...it’s kind of nice to have all this” you gestured around at the room “to distract me from thinking about it today. I had some nightmares last night.”</p>
<p>Your breath hitched.</p>
<p>“I got freaked out thinking about what happened. What they could have done to you. I mean, I knew that you’re a force to be reckoned with but those guys were huge and they wanted to kill you and they wanted to---”</p>
<p>Before he knew what he was doing, Matt kissed you. </p>
<p>Dammit, you deserved so much better, you deserved to know the truth about him and Daredevil, and you deserved to have his fucking <em>libido</em> in check while you were expressing your very real fears and anxieties about what had happened to you, but he’d heard your voice break and now his lips were on yours. He pulled back abruptly, heart pounding.</p>
<p>“I’m so---” his words were cut off by you pulling him back. He wrapped his arms around you and tangled one hand in your hair and backed you up against the nearest wall and some kind of framed art fell down but he couldn’t bring himself to care because <em>you</em> were there and it was somehow both everything and nothing like he’d imagined. His fingers were shaking as he traced them down your sides, down curves and over the soft fabric of your shirt and you made a noise in the back of your throat that made his fingers tighten hard enough that he knew you were going to bruise. He somehow didn’t care, a primal part of his brain fiercely triumphant that everyone would see the marks and know you were his.  </p>
<p>And suddenly the sensation of your lips on his was too much and he trailed a line of kisses down the side of your neck and traced your collarbone with his tongue. Every place where your body met his felt like it was on fire, and the pounding of your heartbeat was so loud he swore that everyone in the Tower would be able to hear it. </p>
<p>“Byron…” you breathed.</p>
<p>He froze. It wasn’t his name. He was harder than he’d been in years, and seconds away from pulling you down onto the carpet with him because the bed that was just on the other side of the room was somehow too far away, and trying to hold onto enough clear-headedness to not go too far too fast because you deserve flowers and dinner and a thousand opal bracelets --- and you weren’t even saying his name. He’d fucked this up so badly.</p>
<p>xxxx</p>
<p>“Byron?” The second time you said his name, it was a question. He was so still. If you couldn’t still feel his heart pounding underneath your hands from where he was pinning you up against the wall, you’d think he’d become a statue. He slowly disentangled himself from you and stepped back.</p>
<p>Oh God, what if he had figured out he didn’t want this. Maybe he’d thought he did and then he’d kissed you and discovered that he didn’t and that’s fine that’s fine that’s fine because people had the right to discover whether or not they want things, but you wanted this thing so badly you think you might combust from the feeling. Just face this like an adult because you are fully capable of it and just really try not to cry. </p>
<p>You cleared your throat. “It’s okay if you changed your mind.”</p>
<p>“Changed my...mind?” The words seemed to be dragged from him, as if coming from a great depth. </p>
<p>“About us. About this.” You swept a hand between the two of you. The space between you ached in a way that it hadn’t five minutes before. </p>
<p>“You think I don’t want you.” His tone was flat. You bristled a little.</p>
<p>“I mean, it’s fine if ---” Suddenly he was an inch from you again. The heat was pouring off him in waves. You flashed back to him trying to scare you off so his enemies wouldn’t look for you. </p>
<p>He dipped his head next to yours, palm flat against the wall, the timbre of his voice sending shivers through your whole upper body. “Do you know how much easier it would be if I didn’t want you? How easy it would be to be a better man, the kind of man you think I am? I know how you see me, I know how you look at me: vigilante, Robin Hood, doing the right thing, making a real difference. If I was half the man you thought I was, I would never have looked in your direction, wouldn’t have given shadows a chance to learn your name.”</p>
<p>“Do you have any idea how rare it is to find someone like you? You’re so full of life and hope and youth and I decided I needed that for myself, morality be damned. I convinced myself that I’d erased enough sin to take you. That I could lie to you and it would all be worth it to stand in your radiance for just a moment.”</p>
<p>“If I didn’t want you so much it hurts, I could raise a glass in toast at your wedding and not think of every single way to convince you to just leave with me and never look back. I could watch you go out with someone like Foggy and be happy that you were with someone who wouldn’t bring darkness to your doorstep.”</p>
<p>“How do you know who Foggy---”</p>
<p>“Because of who I am.” With those words, he tore off his mask. You blinked. You blinked again.</p>
<p>The sightless eyes of Matthew Murdock stared back at you.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you SO MUCH for the kind words and feedback! The sheer number of superlatives make me blush. This has been so much fun to write. </p>
<p>You guys give me life.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>And did those feet in ancient time<br/>
Walk upon Englands mountains green:<br/>
And was the holy Lamb of God,<br/>
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!</p>
  <p>And did the Countenance Divine,<br/>
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?<br/>
And was Jerusalem builded here,<br/>
Among these dark Satanic Mills?</p>
  <p>Bring me my Bow of burning gold:<br/>
Bring me my arrows of desire:<br/>
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!<br/>
Bring me my Chariot of fire!</p>
  <p>I will not cease from Mental Fight,<br/>
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand:<br/>
Till we have built Jerusalem,<br/>
In Englands green &amp; pleasant Land.</p>
  <p>William Blake, “Jerusalem”</p>
</div><em>Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.</em><p>Matt knew he’d be able to pick out your heartbeat from a crowd of thousands.</p>
<p>
  <em>Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.</em>
</p>
<p>Please let her say something, Matt prayed desperately.</p>
<p>
  <em>Ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump</em>
</p>
<p>Screaming, cursing, telling him to go to hell and never come back. Anything would be better than silence.</p>
<p>He sensed the tear as it fell, heard it hit the ground as clearly as icicle shattering on concrete.</p>
<p>You sank to the ground and wrapped your arms around your knees as the first sobs came.</p>
<p>Oh God, he’d been wrong. This was infinitely worse than silence. </p>
<p>He knelt down next to you. “Please, I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. Please. What can I do?”</p>
<p>You sobbed harder.</p>
<p>He reached out to touch you, letting his hand hover near your shoulder before drawing it back. Likely the last thing you wanted was his touch. </p>
<p>There was nothing for him to punch that would make this situation better, nothing he could talk his way out of. Your breathing got shallower and faster.</p>
<p>
  <em>Badumpbadumpbadumpbadump</em>
</p>
<p>“Please, tell me if you’re okay. Your heart is going so fast. Have you had panic attacks before?”</p>
<p>No response. </p>
<p>
  <em>BADUMPBADUMPBADUMPBADUMP</em>
</p>
<p>“Okay, I just need you to breathe, okay? Here, we’ll get you warmer,” Matt dragged a blanket off the nearby couch and carefully draped it over you. “Can you just breathe with me? I promise I will make everything better, I will do everything in my power to make it better, but I need you to breathe with me. Can you inhale? One, two, three, four.”</p>
<p>He heard you shakily try to go along, getting stuck on the third count and ending in a cough.</p>
<p>“That’s great, that’s perfect, now just exhale. One, two, three, four.”</p>
<p>You made it through all the counts this time.</p>
<p>“Once more? Inhale one, two, three, four”</p>
<p>He was so focused on listening to minute changes in your breathing pattern that he almost missed your hand shakily reaching out. You pressed it directly over his heart, the pads of your fingers digging in, palm pressing in. It was the reach of someone grasping for a lifeline, scrabbling for the tree root on the edge of the river.</p>
<p>“Exhale, one, two, three, four.”</p>
<p>“Inhale, one, two, three, four.”</p>
<p>His world shrank so the only sensations were your gasps and your heartbeat and his soft counting of beats. Inhale, exhale. One, two, three, four.</p>
<p>Your heartbeat slowed incrementally, your breathing deepened. Your hand dropped from his chest, and you slowly lifted your head.</p>
<p>“Matt.”</p>
<p>xxxxxx</p>
<p>You hadn’t had a panic attack like that in years. You felt twelve again.</p>
<p>Matt was looking at you like he’d just had his heart torn out of his chest. You wondered if he knew that he was curled slightly away from you, like he was preparing himself for a physical blow from you. The thought made bile rise into your throat.</p>
<p>“Can I...can I get some tea?” Your voice was thick with tears and the draining of adrenaline.</p>
<p>“Of course.” Matt stood up, sensed his way to the kitchen, located the kettle for water and put it on to boil, before walking back towards you. He stopped about eight feet away.</p>
<p>You stared at him for several seconds. “Did you mean what you said?”</p>
<p>Matt winced. “Which part in particular?”</p>
<p>“The part where you said it would be easier if…” please don’t let your voice break on this one, “if you didn’t want me.”</p>
<p>You hadn’t known that blind eyes could express anguish. “I wouldn’t change anything about how I feel about you.”</p>
<p>The kettle beeped. You stood, the blanket still hanging from your shoulders where Matt had draped it. You walked past Matt, sorted through tea bags, pulled a mug from the cabinet. Your limbs felt like they didn’t belong to you. You came back out into the living room and sank on the couch.</p>
<p>“Can I ask you something?”</p>
<p>“Anything.”</p>
<p>You sorted through the jumble of questions in your head, trying to pull them apart to ask something that wasn’t just “Why?”</p>
<p>You decided to start where you were and work backwards.</p>
<p>“So, you feel something for me?”</p>
<p>He nodded carefully. “Yes, I do.”</p>
<p>“And you’ve felt like this for a while?”</p>
<p>“Yes. Since last fall.”</p>
<p>You processed that for a minute, trying to remember the timeline of when you’d met Byron (Matt, it was just Matt all along, it had always been Matt).</p>
<p>“Why did you start following me as...Byron?”</p>
<p>“I was worried about you making it home safe late at night after work. It was wrong, but that’s why I did it.”</p>
<p>“Does anyone else know your secret?” The questions were coming from all over the place but you were just asking them as they occurred to you. </p>
<p>“A couple of people, yes.”</p>
<p>“Do Foggy and Karen?” </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>xxxxxxxx</p>
<p>Each question cut so deeply that Matt thought they might actually leave physical wounds.</p>
<p>“What <em>was</em> true? Are the Russians really after me?”</p>
<p>“Yes, they are, I swear.”</p>
<p>“So Byron didn’t talk to you about me staying with you because you were Byron and…” you paused. “Wait, was this some elaborate plan to get me to sleep with you? Was this a game to you?”</p>
<p>His blood turned to ice. “No --- I would never, not with you, not like this.”</p>
<p>“Then why did you do this? Why did you <em>lie</em>?”</p>
<p>“I’ve given you no reason to trust me and I don’t expect you to, not after tonight. But I swear to you that this was not a game to me. Was it me fucking up every chance I was given? Yes. Was it me being too much of a coward to tell you everything that you deserved to know? Absolutely. But it was <em>never</em> a game.”</p>
<p>“Tell me everything. Please.”</p>
<p>And he did, every sorry detail. How he lost his sight, how he’d become the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. How he’d met you, how he’d been worried about you, how he’d lied to himself when you noticed him as the Daredevil on the rooftops, saying that you were more observant than he’d expected when he knew he’d been allowing himself to be seen by you, because he wanted to be seen by you. How he’d talked himself out of every opportunity to tell you the truth. How terrified he’d been when the Russian had grabbed you at the docks. How he’d asked Tony Stark to give you this job to keep you safe while they ensured Vladimir and Anatoly could never hurt you. How he’d agreed to run missions with the Avengers.</p>
<p>How all he’d meant to do in coming here tonight was to tell you all of this, and how instead he’d kissed you and made you cry.</p>
<p>“Why…” you struggled as if trying to find the best way to phrase this, “why didn’t you tell me how you felt as Matt the lawyer? Left Daredevil out of the equation?”</p>
<p>Matt swallowed hard. “Setting aside the fact that it would have been impossible to explain both my nighttime activities and injuries to someone I was seeing? You’re 23.”</p>
<p>“Is that bad?”</p>
<p>“It’s the kind of age gap that often comes with a power imbalance. People will --- would --- look at us and wonder if you’d been my college intern at my firm when we met." His tone turned bitter. "If I’d seduced you.”</p>
<p>“I know that society is telling you that you are a fully emancipated woman who can entirely shape her own destiny, and God knows we all wish that was the case, but trust me when I say there is a lot that someone in my position could do and say to convince someone like you that you wanted me, even if that wasn’t actually the case.”</p>
<p>“And I don’t give a damn what other people think, but I care what you think and I couldn’t bear the possibility that someday you’d wake up and feel like I <em>had</em> seduced you, and that I’d taken away some of your youth that you’d never get back.”</p>
<p>“So you were just going to wait until I was some arbitrarily suitable age before telling me?”</p>
<p>Matt blew out a short breath. “I don’t know what I was planning on doing.”</p>
<p>“But you didn’t have a problem with Foggy going out with me?” Matt let out a humorless laugh. “You know what I mean. You didn’t try to stop him because of the age difference.”</p>
<p>Matt’s jaw clenched. “Foggy would never lead anyone astray. Anything you would have felt for him would have been genuine. I couldn’t trust the same could be said of me.”</p>
<p>For the first time all night, you laughed shakily. “Matthew Murdock, I never fully appreciated how little you thought of yourself in certain regards.”</p>
<p>xxxxxxx</p>
<p>You took a sip of your now-cold tea. The pieces were all starting to come together. </p>
<p>“Matt, did I make you pick out your own Christmas gift?”</p>
<p>He laughed softly. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“Well, you have no excuse not to have liked it.”</p>
<p>“I love it, I promise.”</p>
<p>“Okay, give me a few minutes here.”</p>
<p>You were struggling to figure out how you were feeling. You know that anger would have been a reasonable reaction. Sadness as well. Disappointment? Okay, what was it your therapist always said? Review the big ideas first.</p>
<p>Big Ideas:</p>
<p>1) Matt had kept the secret about being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen from you. He’d also kept it from seemingly everyone else important in his life, so it didn’t really have that much to do with you personally, or at least not more so than it did for Karen or Foggy. </p>
<p>2) Matt thought that he had single-handedly brought the Russian mafia to your door. Okay, yes, if you hadn’t met him the Russians would not be hunting you right now, but you had chosen this as well. Even before the Russian had specifically come for you. It takes two to tango, esquire.</p>
<p>3) Matthew Murdock/Byron, vigilante and brilliant lawyer and not-infrequent subject of your late night ruminations, said he wanted you so much that he couldn’t think straight when he was around you. You allowed yourself a moment to squeal about this internally at a very high volume before moving on.</p>
<p>4) The fact that you were 23 was a problem for Matt, because he felt you weren’t old enough to choose someone like him, and that he might...accidentally make you want him? You were pretty sure Matt had gotten this idea more from his dealings with sexual assault cases in district courts and less from interacting with the average female college grad.</p>
<p>5) Matt regularly physically assaulted people in the name of justice. That was a particularly loaded Big Idea that warranted further inspection at a later time.</p>
<p>6) Matt had gone behind your back to get two Russian mafia leaders out of the picture and to set up a fake job for you with Stark Industries so that you wouldn’t leave the Tower while they were being taken out of the picture. Not cool.</p>
<p>7) Matt had kissed you and then basically immediately launched into a “we can’t be together” speech. Also not cool.</p>
<p>You decided that Big Idea #1 was something that you mostly understood, #2 and #4 you would have to talk Matt out of feeling guilty about, #5 was a whole other discussion, and it was #6 and #7 that got your hackles up.</p>
<p>“Okay, I’ve decided which of the things that transpired in the last year I am actually mad about, and I want to talk about them.”</p>
<p>He seemed wary. “Okay?”</p>
<p>“I get you keeping the secret about your identity, especially because you haven’t told people like Foggy and Karen. And I get you feeling guilty about what has happened with the Russians, even though I think that you’re taking on way too much responsibility for that one. But you don’t get to decide what I think and I do. That means whether our age gap bothers <em>me</em>, or whether <em>I</em> feel like you are single handedly bringing danger to my life, or you going to Tony Stark and deciding what happens to two men and where I’m going to be while it’s happening.”</p>
<p>“And if you’re going to be a martyr about your feelings for me, then I need you to really be a martyr. You cannot come in here and kiss me like that and then tell me how we’re not going to work. That’s not fair to me.”</p>
<p>Matt looked stricken. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” </p>
<p>“So I need you to figure out if you’re willing to risk your sense of control by being with me.”</p>
<p>xxxxxx</p>
<p>He was floored. Surely he’d misheard.</p>
<p>“You would want to try this?”</p>
<p>He could hear the smile in your voice. “You have never seen what you look like in a scarf and winter coat, Matthew Murdock. You wouldn’t be able to resist you either.”</p>
<p>What had he done to deserve this? </p>
<p>“But I’m serious. I need you to make the choice to do it.”</p>
<p>He nodded. “I understand.”</p>
<p>“And I know this might take some time. I also need to understand more about being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Just to make sure I know everything before we take this further.”</p>
<p>Would you be able to understand it?</p>
<p>“But that’s a conversation for another time. Crying makes me exhausted.” you said matter-of-factly, as if the man who was responsible for your tears wasn’t still in the room. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>Matt was taken aback. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean, all that stuff you told me, it was hard stuff that I assume was not buried right at the top of your psyche. Not to mention that you’ve been single-handedly defending Hell’s Kitchen and trying to keep me safe while running a law firm. I get exhausted just thinking about it. How are you doing?”</p>
<p>He couldn’t open his emotions any more in front of you. He’d never stop if he did. He shifted to the tone that had appeased nuns and shrinks in the past. “I’m okay. I’m more concerned about you.”</p>
<p>“I’ve got a hell of headache and I really need a bubble bath. But I’m doing okay. Better than a while ago. Thanks for helping me through the panic.”</p>
<p>“You forget I was the one who caused it.”</p>
<p>He could almost hear you roll your eyes. “Okay, I always thought the Catholic guilt was exaggerated, but I’m discovering not. Just don’t flay yourself too much --- I don’t know what the fee would be to get blood out of this carpet.”</p>
<p>You got to your feet, and he stood as well. “I really think I am going to take that bath.”</p>
<p>He nodded. “I’ll leave you to it.” He carefully tied the mask back onto his head and turned to go.</p>
<p>“Hey, Matt?”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“I’m glad I know your name, finally.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Glad you guys liked the last chapter. Please keep up the feedback! It really helps me write :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Hail, O greenest branch,<br/>
sprung forth in the airy breezes<br/>
of the prayers of the saints.</p>
  <p>So the time has come<br/>
that your sprays have flourished:<br/>
hail, hail to you,<br/>
because the heat of the sun has exuded from you<br/>
like the aroma of balm.</p>
  <p>For the beautiful flower sprung from you<br/>
which gave all parched perfumes<br/>
their aroma.</p>
  <p>And they have radiated anew<br/>
in their full freshness.</p>
  <p>Hildegard von Bingen, “O Viridissima Virga” </p>
</div>You sank beneath the surface of the water and contemplated not coming back up. It was silent and warm in the bath. You could live here forever, right? No need for messy emotions or superheroes or jobs. Just the gentle sound of water in your ears.<p>With a groan, you pulled yourself up out of the tub and dried yourself off before wrapping yourself in the robe that you’d discovered hanging on a hook on the back of the bathroom door. You stared at your face in the mirror. Same eyes, same mouth. Why did you feel different? </p><p>You touched your lips and shivered as you remember the sensation of Matt’s lips against yours. Surely they hadn’t taught him that skill in Catholic school. God, when he’d been whispering into your ear and you had the entire length of him against you...you hadn’t understood exactly how many muscles he had under that lawyer suit of his until that moment.</p><p>And his smile? No one had a right to look that good. </p><p>If he decided that he didn’t want to risk being with you, you were going to have to move back to the Northwest. You wouldn’t be able to be within a hundred miles of him without embarrassing yourself. </p><p>Oh God you just realized that was Matt who had been drunk and showed up that one night. What was it he’d said? That you smelled like gardenias?</p><p>You traced along the faint bloom of bruises on your arm where his fingers had dug into you. </p><p>You were in so deep.</p><p>xxxxxxx</p><p>On the other side of the world, Steve Rogers entered an Bucharest apartment and flipped a light switch. A single bulb burned over a scarred wooden table. The figure sitting there was shadowed in darkness.</p><p>“Buck, I’m here to take you home.”</p><p>xxxxxx</p><p>Two days later, you hadn’t heard from Matt. You were honestly pretty damn proud of how you managed to only think about him every fifteen minutes or a so. You were a veritable independent career woman who didn’t need no man.</p><p>You had received a summons to a meeting with Pepper Potts the morning after your kiss/fight/talk with Matt. He’d clearly told her that the jig was up and that you knew everything. Pepper offered to pay out your contract without you having to complete the pretense of work.</p><p>“Is it actual work that has to get done?”</p><p>“Yes, we’ll find someone else.”</p><p>“No, I want to finish it. If that’s okay. I’ll go crazy just sitting around here if I don’t have something to do.”</p><p>Pepper had nodded. “Why don’t you finish out the work week in the Avengers ops library? I know Mr. Murdock would feel more comfortable the greater the number of steel doors and biometric checkpoints there are between you and the outside world right now.”</p><p>“I can do that.” You had stood to leave, then turned back. “Um, Miss Potts?”</p><p>“Pepper, please.”</p><p>“Pepper. Does Mr. Stark...um…does he get really protective of you?”</p><p>Pepper watched you carefully. You blushed.</p><p>“I’m sorry, it’s none of my business of course. God. I’m sorry. I’ll just go.”</p><p>“Yes, Tony does get protective. Particularly after particularly difficult missions. I am given to understand that it’s comparable to the behavior of soldiers on leave, but amplified.” Her eyes were sympathetic. “It’s not the easiest thing to be involved with an Avenger. Do you have someone you can talk to about it? Professionally?”</p><p>“Yeah, well, I mean I have my therapist but I’m not sure how much I can really talk about it. Any of it.”</p><p>“We have a number of trained mental health professionals on staff, and you are eligible to see them as the partner of an Avenger.”</p><p>Your eyes had gone wide. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’m not the partner or anything of Matt. So I probably don’t qualify. Also, I kind of don’t really have health insurance which I know is bad and my mom would kill me if she knew but it lapsed after my last long-term contract and ----”</p><p>Pepper had held up a hand. “You are covered as a Stark Industries contractor with Avengers-level clearance.”</p><p>“Oh, well, that’s great then. Thank you, Mis-- Pepper.”</p><p>“You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can help you with?”</p><p>“No, you’ve done so much. Thank you.”</p><p>Back in the present moment, you scanned your palm and iris and gave your super secret passcode. The system beeped and let you into the ops library. Pepper had arranged for your documents and sources to be moved up here from the archives dozens of floors lower, and you had your laptop. </p><p>The sight of a dark-haired man staring out at the skyline almost gave you a heart attack.</p><p>“Jesus!” You clutched the laptop to your chest. </p><p>The man turned and looked a little startled. He shifted into a slight defensive stance, eyes sharp on yours. </p><p>Oh, shit.</p><p>“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize someone was here. I’m sure whatever you’re doing is more important than what I was about to do. I’ll just leave.”</p><p>The man stared at you like you were speaking a foreign language. Maybe he didn’t speak English? </p><p>“Um, I’ll just, leave?”</p><p>Still no response. You turned.</p><p>“You don’t have to leave.” His voice sounded rusty, like he’d just gotten over a cold. Or like he wasn’t used to speaking much.</p><p>You turned back to face him. “Are you sure? I’m on a temporary contract and like I said, I’m sure whatever work you’re doing on a floor this high up in the Tower is infinitely more important than mine.”</p><p>“I don’t have work.” His tone was flat.</p><p>“Oh-kay.” You drew out the two syllables of the word, still uncertain. “Well, I’ll just get to work then. I was pretty strongly recommended to work in this room and I’m afraid if I went knocking on other doors I would discover Area 51 or something.” Your nervous laughter fell flat. The other man didn’t say a word.</p><p>Geez, tough crowd.</p><p>He turned back to look out at the skyline, motionless. This conversation was clearly over. </p><p>You sat down and opened your laptop, glad that you’d remembered to bring your headphones. The thought of playing your Get To Work Gurl playlist over the room’s speakers with this silent man in the room made you blush.</p><p>The next few hours passed, and you looked at the clock, realizing it was lunchtime. The man hadn’t moved the entire time. You were starting to suspect he was military. Or a performance artist. Anyone else would have at least moved from foot to foot occasionally. </p><p>You stood up. “Do you want any food?”</p><p>He turned to look at you. You had never realized that a man with long hair could look so intimidating. You wondered why he was wearing gloves indoors.</p><p>Clearing your throat, you started again. “I’m going to get lunch. Probably a sashimi bowl because free food, amirite?” You don’t know why you kept expecting a response from him. “Can I bring you something?”</p><p>The man turned back to the window. You decided to interpret that as a yes. If he didn’t end up eating it, you would take it back to your rooms to have for dinner later.</p><p>Twenty minutes later, you were back, balancing two bowls, chopsticks, napkins, and a set of cutlery. </p><p>“I brought you chopsticks and a fork because I didn’t want to assume anything about your East Asian cutlery experience. I told them to go easy on the wasabi for yours.”</p><p>You set the bowl, chopsticks, and fork down at the corner of the conference table closest to where the man was standing and got back to work. To your astonishment, about twenty minutes later, he turned to the table, pulled the top off the bowl, and ate the fish and rice efficiently. Without any facial expression, either of pleasure or disgust. Like he was refueling, nothing more. After he’d finished, he put down the chopsticks and went back to stand at the window.</p><p>You worked the rest of the afternoon and finished a bit early. The sun was starting to go down and evening light slanted into the room. You stretched and gathered up your laptop and bag. </p><p>“Alright, well, I’m off. I hope you have a good night.”</p><p>You left. Bucky Barnes stared after you, long after the library door had closed.</p><p>xxxxx</p><p>Stark had made good on his word. Five days after he’d revealed his identity to you, Matt got a phone call. Restricted number.</p><p>“Double-D’s, this one’s right up your alley! Well, not literally because not even the hipsters slum it in Hell’s Kitchen anymore. But figuratively.”</p><p>Matt groaned mentally. “What do you need me to do?”</p><p>“That’s the spirit. We’ve got someone here, and we need to know if he’s telling the truth about the particulars of his compatriots’ plans to destroy the capitol.”</p><p>“Where are you?”</p><p>“D.C. Just head over to the Tower, we’ve got the Quinjet lined up and ready to go. Just don’t drink all the Cristal on the flight.”</p><p>“Fine.” Matt hung up.</p><p>“Karen, can you tell Foggy I’m taking the rest of the afternoon off? I feel a migraine coming on.”</p><p>xxxxxxxxxx</p><p>Matt closed his eyes on the flight back to New York and took some deep breaths. The mission itself had been straightforward --- the bad guy hadn’t been lying and the bomb had been successfully located --- but meeting the rest of the Avengers had drained him. </p><p>(“Everyone, this is Daredevil. Daredevil, this is everyone.”</p><p>Matt heard silence and palpably felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on you. Studying him. </p><p>“Double-Ds, I’m not sure how you actually see where anyone is, but left to right it’s Natasha, Hawk Man, Capsicle, Banner, James Rhodes, and what’s-his-face with the wings.”</p><p>“Sam.” </p><p>“That’s what I said. Sam. Point Break is off-world doing God knows what in God knows which realm. I think that pretty much covers it. You don’t have to sniff everyone to memorize their smell or anything, right? Alright then, let’s see if this son of a bitch is telling the truth.”)</p><p>He should have known that Stark would have handled the introductions exactly like he did. He groaned. His abilities had seemed to make an impression on Captain America at least, who stopped him after he’d exited the interrogation room to ask a few questions. </p><p>Stark had mentioned something about a proper welcome celebration for Matt this coming weekend, which he was already dreading. He hadn't come to make friends, he had done this to protect you and Vladimir and Anatoly were still very much at large.</p><p>("Murdock, I don't think you understand what it takes to get men like that off the streets and not have it traced straight back to you. This is the Russian mafia we are talking about. Give me a few more days.")</p><p>But he had more important matters to attend to. The jet landed and he made his way to the elevator of the Tower, descending quickly to your floor. This time, there was no hesitation as he knocked.</p><p>The door swung open. "Matt," you said happily, "c'mon in." You asked J.A.R.V.I.S. to turn off the calming music that had been emanating throughout your rooms, and quickly rolled up the mat on the floor. </p><p>"Am I interrupting?"</p><p>"Oh, no, I was just doing some yoga. Helps me make the transition from work to personal time."</p><p>"I came to talk."</p><p>He felt you tense, even as you attempted a nonchalant tone. "Great, I want to hear what you've been thinking."</p><p>He took off his glasses and set them on the coffee table, before reaching out for your hand and pulling him down beside him until you were both sitting on the couch. </p><p>"First of all, I want to apologize for the way I handled everything. Since day one. I started down the wrong path and didn't get together the strength to get on another one. I can't begin to tell you how much better you deserve."</p><p>You nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate that."</p><p>"And secondly, I have been thinking about all the reasons I gave you why we --- why I shouldn't take this further. And while I still think my arguments are valid, I understand that I was taking away your right to make your own choices. So given all that, and as long as you promise me that you will tell me the second you feel like things aren't equal or that your life is in any way worse off for me being in it ---"</p><p>"I promise!" you laughed. </p><p>He smiled at that and raised an eyebrow. "I thought you might." </p><p>You punched his arm. "You think you know me so well."</p><p>"Oh, I plan on getting to know you a lot better." He curled one hand into your hair and kissed you fiercely, pouring every ounce of pent-up desire into a single embrace. You made a sound halfway between a gasp and a groan and grabbed the front of his sweater with both hands, leaning into the kiss. </p><p>He thought he remembered what kissing you did to his nerve endings. The memory didn't do it justice at all. </p><p>You deepened the kiss and Matt nearly lost it there. He suddenly felt seventeen again, just trying to not get pulled under by the tide of hormones and lust. He pulled you onto his lap and gritted out, "Wrap your legs around my waist."</p><p>You did so and Matt picked you up without breaking the kiss, resting you on the counter in the small kitchen. You were now level with one another and broke off, resting your forehead against his, breathing hard. </p><p>"Jesus, do you know what that mouth of yours does to me?" Desire roughened your voice. </p><p>"I know what it wants to do to you." He pressed his lips against the flutter of your pulse underneath your jaw and groaned. "I should have known you'd taste this good." He traced the curve of your neck, first with his lips, then with his tongue. "Although it is a good thing I never knew until now. I would have spent every waking moment trying to figure out how to get you alone."</p><p>You were coming undone under his touch, your legs wrapping more urgently around his waist, one hand with a death grip on the hair just above the nape of his neck.</p><p>He had to touch you. The scent of you was shutting down every part of his brain that didn't want to take you right there on the counter. He found the hem of your sweater and the soft skin beneath. The gentle swell of your breasts. The sound you made when he brushed the pads of his thumbs over your peaks. </p><p>You whispered "Yes. Please. Matt."</p><p>That was what caused his desire to combust like a match held to tinder. Images and scenes flooded his brain of how it would feel to make you beg, to get one more plea from you.</p><p>He tore himself from you, breathing like he'd just fought an entire army. He fought to steady himself, to reign it back in.</p><p>"Matt?" Your voice was confusion shot through with unfiltered desire. </p><p>"Just. Give me a minute."</p><p>You tugged at your sweater. "Did I do something wrong?" You reached for his face and he quickly grabbed your hand before you could touch him. </p><p>He spoke rapidly in between shallow breaths, trying to get you to understand before he lost the ability to speak. "In order to face myself tomorrow morning, I need to know that I didn't take you right now on your kitchen counter before I have even had the fucking decency to ask you out. And in order to convince myself that needs to happen, I <em>cannot</em> be touching you."</p><p>"Really?" There was a sense of wonder in your voice.</p><p>"You have no idea." A thought suddenly crossed his mind that caused him to freeze. "Have you --- I mean, would this be ---"</p><p>You pulled back. Your heartbeat sped up as you prepared to lie to him. You had never lied to him before. </p><p>Finally, you straightened up and told him the truth. "I've gone pretty far with a couple people, but no, I've never actually had sex."</p><p>He was stunned. He'd never even considered the possibility. Suddenly being this close to you felt like something close to corrupting the innocent.  </p><p>"Matt, do <em>not</em> overthink this."</p><p>"I'm not." He was.</p><p>"Matt, I am a grown woman and I know what I want. And yes, it would probably be best to not actually have sex tonight, but this does not change anything."</p><p>He was trying to remember if he'd ever been anyone's first before. "We'll take this at your pace, okay? You tell me what feels good, and if anything doesn't, and---"</p><p>"Matt, relax. Virginity is basically a social construct anyway. Like I said, I've gotten pretty far." A stab of jealousy directed at unknown men who had better treated you well, or Matt would track them down one by one. </p><p>"Ah, Murdock, someday I'll figure out how to turn off that brain of yours."</p><p>"Trust me when I say that will not be an issue."</p><p>He was a foot or so away from you now, and he was sure you looked both adorable and utterly desirable perched on the kitchen counter. </p><p>You cocked your head to the side. "How about we watch a movie? Tone down the physical interactions a bit."</p><p>"Deal."</p><p>xxxxxx</p><p>Steve let the water pressure undo the knots in his back. This mission had taken more out of him than he'd expected. Stepping out of the shower, he quickly dressed and went to go find Bucky. </p><p>He didn't know what to think. Some days he thought he was making progress, breaking through to his oldest friend. Some days he felt like he was talking to a combination of an automaton and a wall.</p><p>He let out a slow breath, hoping today would be one of the good days. <em>It'll take time</em>, the doctors had said. Code for <em>we have never seen anything like this. </em></p><p>Bucky was standing in the room that Steve would find him in every night. Some kind of library or archives. Bucky was always in the same location, staring at the skyline. He turned when Steve came in. That was a good sign.</p><p>"Hey, Bucky. How's it going?"</p><p>No immediate response. Maybe not such a good day after all. But then ---</p><p>"Hi."</p><p>The sheer relief that Steve felt at the word was staggering. "What were you doing while I was out saving the world, huh?"</p><p>Bucky gestured around the room. "I was here."</p><p>"I've been meaning to ask you, Buck --- why here? Something special in the view?"</p><p>Bucky was silent and then said, "The woman who works here is...nice."</p><p>Alarm bells went off in Steve's head. "What woman?"</p><p>Bucky stared at him and described you briefly. Steve relaxed. "Oh, that's Murdock's girl. I haven't met her myself."</p><p>"She's nice. And she doesn't try to get me to talk. Not like everyone else." Steve tried not to be hurt by the words. He remembered what it was like when he'd come out of the ice. Like there was a price to pay and the currency was words to everyone: shrinks, doctors, the government, the press. </p><p>"That's great, Buck."</p><p>"There is no reason for her to be nice to me." There was no self-pity in the words. Just a statement of facts.</p><p>"Yeah, but there are some people who are just nicer than most. Does a little bit to balance out all the jerks."</p><p>Bucky turned back to the skyline.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you as always for the comments and kudos. I've just been thinking about this world a lot the last few days and chapters keep coming.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>He fought like those Who've nought to lose<br/>
Bestowed Himself to Balls<br/>
As One who for a further Life<br/>
Had not a further Use</p>
  <p>Invited Death—with bold attempt<br/>
But Death was Coy of Him<br/>
As Other Men, were Coy of Death<br/>
To Him—to live—was Doom</p>
  <p>His Comrades, shifted like the Flakes<br/>
When Gusts reverse the Snow<br/>
But He—was left alive Because<br/>
Of Greediness to die</p>
  <p>Emily Dickinson, “He fought like those Who’ve nought to lose---”</p>
</div>It had now been a full two weeks since you had first come to the Tower. You’d gotten a couple of updates from Pepper about the Russians --- “complications” was the phrase most often used. There were connections between Vladimir and Anatoly with other Mafia families that resulted in the kind of entangled alliances your high school history teacher had described during the unit on World War I. Whoever was doing the favors for Tony Stark had to tie up some loose ends so there wasn’t either a total power vacuum or a blood vengeance pact when everything went down.<p>You had worked up the courage at the first one of these meetings and asked that the men please not be killed if possible. You wondered if you should have gone further and given one of those speeches you see at the end of Nelson Mandela biopics about the dignity of human life. Pepper had said she understood and promised to pass on the request. </p><p>You had an established routine to your workdays now. You woke up, read in bed until the thought of being vertical didn’t make you bury your head under pillows, then got ready for the day. Next was going in search of granola and a latte from the dining hall.</p><p>(You usually tried to stick with two lattes a week, but you were giving yourself a pass until your name stopped being whispered in Russian conversations in dark alleys all over the city.)</p><p>Because it was usually only around 7am by the time you made it to the dining hall, you generally encountered a combination of night shift employees just leaving, and early birds getting a jumpstart on the day. You had established a friendly acquaintance with a couple of people --- Rosie who served the hot breakfast, Wren who worked the graveyard security shift, and Jake who looked like he was about sixteen but who had basically single-handedly built some project called Lightforce. Then it was off to work. You were still trying to not feel weird about the fact that you had essentially volunteered to keep working.</p><p>He was always there when you got there, even the one time you’d had insomnia and started work at 5:30am. You always left the room for the night before 6:00pm, so for all you know he went to bed at 6:30pm, but something told you he was not someone who got much sleep. The last couple of days he seemed to relax a bit more. He’d sat down for short stretches of time, and asked you a question unprompted once. </p><p>You had introduced yourself to him. He’d stood silently for a couple of minutes before stating that his name was James. It felt like a truth wrapped up in a lie. You weren’t sure exactly why.</p><p>He always wore long sleeves and gloves. </p><p>The number of times you had to bite your tongue throughout the day was higher than you’d ever like to admit to anyone. Where was he from? Why was he here? What had happened to him that made him capable of observing a single spot on the ground far below motionless for hours? Did something happen to his hands that he preferred to cover them up? </p><p>Once, when you were little, you had asked the checkout lady at the grocery store why she looked sad. Your mom had been mortified and dragged you out in the parking lot. Crouching down to look at you, she’d said,</p><p>“People will tell you things about themselves if and when they want to. You don’t have the right to anyone’s story except your own.”</p><p>Your eyes had filled with tears. It felt like a scolding.</p><p>You mom had sighed and patted your head. “The trick, instead of trying to figure out everyone’s story, is to make sure you’re the kind of person people feel comfortable telling their story to. And to be okay if they never do. That’s how you know you’re doing it for them and not for you.”</p><p>You always brought enough lunch for the both of you. He never ate it at first, letting it sit on the conference table. When he did, it was like the first day: efficient and silent. At the end of the day, you said goodbye to him and left. Two days ago, he’d said goodbye back.</p><p>Then came exercise and after that, Matt would come by. Not every day --- there were some times when he had late depositions or early morning court appearances --- but most. You would make dinner together or listen to NPR or you would try to explain cartoon-based memes to him, but mostly you just talked. About his work and your days and about his life as the Daredevil. He told you about the little girl he’d heard crying in the building down the street, and how he’d never slept better after sending the father to the hospital. You asked him questions and slowly pieced together the moral code he tried to live by in his shadow life. </p><p>You don’t know if you would have made the same choices, but it didn’t scare you off. </p><p>He asked you about your life before he’d met you, and your family, and you tried not to feel guilty describing what had been a pretty good life with your parents and siblings. He told you long stories about various escapades he and Foggy had had as law students. </p><p>There had been a few lingering kisses, long hours spent lounging against each other on the couch, but Matt was determined to take it at your pace and honestly slow was fine with you after the emotional roller coaster that had been the last month of your life. </p><p>Not that your mouth hadn’t gone dry after he changed shirts in your living room once. You were only human, after all. </p><p>You were thinking about all this when you walked into the ops library to find James facing towards the door and not staring at the skyline. This was new.</p><p>“Hi?” Goddammit, if you could remove one intonation from the English language it would be Valley Girl uptick that turned your statements into questions. </p><p>“Hello.”</p><p>He’d never spoken to you this early in the day.  </p><p>xxxxxx</p><p>Matt was training with the Avengers in their facility at the Tower. He should probably eliminate the phrase ‘‘with the Avengers” considering that he was actually one of them. At least in theory.</p><p>He was currently getting his ass kicked by America’s Star Spangled Hero himself. He tried to remember that Steve Rogers had enough serum coursing through his veins to take out a tank, but it didn’t take the sting out finding himself flat on his back yet again. At least it was in front of someone who always asked how you were doing whenever he saw Matt.</p><p>Steve stuck out a hand and pulled him up. “You want to go another round?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>They assumed their stances a few feet from each other. Steve cracked his neck and said “Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you: make sure you pass on thanks to her from Bucky for all the time she’s spent with him. I know he’s not really in a place where he can thank her himself.”</p><p>Matt dropped his arms. “What the hell are you talking about?”</p><p>Steve stilled. “I thought you knew.”</p><p>“Knew what?”</p><p>xxxxxx</p><p>“I need to tell you something.” His voice was less rough than it had been the first day.</p><p>“Oh, okay. Sure. What’s up?”</p><p>“You need to know who I am.”</p><p>“Okay?”</p><p>He looked at you for a moment, then shrugged out of the jacket he was wearing. Underneath, he was wearing a plain black t-shirt. That wasn’t what caught your attention, though.</p><p>It was the entirely metal arm, with a faded red star on the shoulder just visible beneath his sleeve. </p><p>There wasn’t a person alive who hadn’t seen that star on every news channel last year after the Battle of the Triskelion.</p><p>You somehow managed to find your voice. “You’re...the Winter Soldier?”</p><p>“I was.”</p><p>You thought about reaching for your purse that contained your mace. You decided against it. The Winter Soldier could probably kill you nineteen different ways without even moving from where he was standing. </p><p>“Well, if you were the Winter Soldier, who are you now?"</p><p>“I don’t <em>know.</em>” It was the first emotion you’d ever heard him express. </p><p>“That’s fair.”</p><p>“Is it?”</p><p>“I mean, you’re tapping into some existential lines of thought here, but I’m pretty sure everyone’s just trying to figure out who they are. While pretending to everyone who will listen that they do know exactly who they are.” You had no idea what you were saying. You were hoping that if you kept talking, nothing bad would happen.</p><p>Before he could answer, the door to the ops library flew open and crashed into the wall. In a single motion, Bucky drew you behind him, crouched into a fighting stance, and drew a knife that you hadn’t even realized was on him. </p><p>“Get the hell away from her.” It was Matt. He was livid. </p><p>Bucky didn’t answer, just shifted more weight onto his front foot and crouched an inch lower. </p><p>“I am not going to tell you again.”</p><p>You stepped out in front of Bucky, trying to reason with Matt before it came to blows. It happened so fast: Matt reached for you; Bucky grabbed your arm and pulled you back behind him. It was with his metal arm, though, and you heard a quiet snap in your left wrist as it bent in a most unnatural way. Your vision swam as you sunk to the ground.</p><p>
  <em>Ow ow ow shit that hurt ow</em>
</p><p>Pain surrounded you. Everything else seemed to be muffled and happening far away: Matt tackling Bucky, Bucky throwing him into one of the bookcases, Matt unfurling a baton as Steve and Tony ran into the room, the rest of the Avengers close behind them. Steve grabbed Bucky as Tony held up one of his Iron Man gloves, ready to blast anyone who moved. Clint and Natasha immediately went to you. </p><p>“She’s hurt.”</p><p>Matt snarled and made a move towards you. Bucky tried to lunge at him, but was held back by Steve. Tony turned up the power on his glove.</p><p>“Oh no, neither of you are moving until we say you can move.”</p><p>Natasha stood up. “We’re taking her to medical.” She put your non-injured arm over her shoulders and started to walk you out, Clint following close behind. </p><p>xxxxxx</p><p>Matt fought to keep the devil down, facing the Avengers. Steve still had what appeared to be a death grip on Bucky.</p><p>You had been alone with the Winter Soldier. You were hurt. It wasn't supposed to be like this. You were supposed to be safe in the Tower, not encountering assassins.</p><p>"Does someone want to explain what the hell just happened here?" Tony asked. </p><p>"You want to explain why you're letting a killer roam the halls, Stark?"</p><p>Steve's head snapped up. "Watch yourself, Murdock. You don't know half of what you're talking about."</p><p>"Enlighten me, then. Because what I know just happened is that she is injured and it is his fault."</p><p>“I didn’t know who you were,” Bucky said flatly, shaking off Steve’s grip and crossing his arms. “You could have been a threat. To her.”</p><p>Matt’s laugh was short and bitter. “And you did such a fantastic job of not being a threat yourself.”</p><p>Tony interrupted “Listen ---”. But Matt had had enough. He stood up and looked back at Bucky. “Stay the hell away from her.”</p><p>He abruptly left the room, leaving the rest of the Avengers looking after him.</p><p>xxxxx</p><p>You lay in the hospital bed, trying to be very stoic as the doctor inspected your wrist. Failing at being very stoic. </p><p>The Black Widow was <em>right there.</em> She could have probably been drawn and quartered and not changed expressions. And you couldn’t even handle a minor wrist injury. God, this was so embarrassing.</p><p>Apparently you were telegraphing your cocktail of emotions, as one corner of Natasha’s mouth quirked up. “You know there’s no need for you to be unaffected by pain, right? We’re agents, we signed up for this. You just got thrown into this. Besides,” she looked over at Clint, “you should have heard how much this one bitched when I pulled some shrapnel out of him in Sarajevo.”</p><p>Clint shook his head, “The IED hit three internal organs, so sorry for not being able to totally suppress the nerve endings in my kidneys.”</p><p>You laughed.</p><p>The doctor concluded after a couple of x-rays that it was a distal radius fracture and that you’d need to wear a splint for up to six weeks. Luckily it was your non-dominant hand. After applying the splint and making sure you’d gotten some pain medication, she went to go fill out the rest of the paperwork.</p><p>You looked over at Natasha. “What do you think went down after we left?”</p><p>Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming a perfectly rational conversation that didn’t involve any testosterone or posturing at all.”</p><p>Clint let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”</p><p>You chewed your lip. “So James is the Winter Soldier?”</p><p>Natasha shook her head and held up a hand. “I am not getting in the middle of this. You’re going to have to talk to him about all this.”</p><p>Okay, that was fair. </p><p>She looked at you carefully. “He’s not an immediate danger to you, or anyone. Outside of accidents like what happened today. Rogers wouldn’t have brought him here if he was.”</p><p>Fifteen floors below the hospital suite, Matt hit the punching bag in the gym. Again. And again. And again.</p><p>Four floors below that, Bucky was staring out the window. He turned to Steve. “You know I didn’t mean to hurt her, right?”</p><p>“‘Course. She’ll know that, too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lots of dark, cozy evenings to write now that Daylight Savings has happened. Hope you enjoy!</p><p>Thank you all as always for your comments, kudos, and for reading (FreerangeEmma, your stream of consciousness comment was *chef's kiss*).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Your mouth like the best wine,<br/>that goes down smoothly for my beloved,<br/>gliding through the lips of those who are asleep.<br/>I am my beloved's.<br/>His desire is toward me.<br/>Come, my beloved, let us go out into the field.<br/>Let us lodge in the villages.<br/>Let’s go early up to the vineyards.<br/>Let’s see whether the vine has budded,<br/>its blossom is open,<br/>and the pomegranates are in flower.<br/>There I will give you my love.</p>
  <p>- Song of Songs</p>
</div>Matt showed up in the medical wing fifteen minutes later, just as the nurse was going through the last parts of checking you out. Natasha and Clint took one look at each other and vacated the premises.<p>Matt had changed back into his street clothes, dark glasses in place. He looked a lot calmer than when he’d been trying to punch James (Bucky? The Winter Soldier?) into oblivion, at the very least. </p>
<p>The nurse told you that you were clear to leave and then exited the room. You were perched a little awkwardly on the edge of the examination table, the new weight of the cast on your left side making you feel clumsy.</p>
<p>“Hey,” you said.</p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell me you were spending time with...<em>him</em>?”</p>
<p>Okay, guess we’re getting right into it. You took a deep breath. </p>
<p>“I want you to know I’m not proud of the reason.”</p>
<p>He didn’t say anything.</p>
<p>“I was one of those kids who always had crushes, right? I have friends who didn’t notice guys in a romantic way until they’re fourteen or fifteen and suddenly they wake up and realize that there are <em>boys</em> and they have <em>muscles</em> and do crazy things to your insides. But me, I’ve always had crushes on the boy down the street when I was nine or my babysitter’s brother when I was eleven, things like that.”</p>
<p>A line appeared between Matt’s eyebrows. He was clearly trying and failing to figure out where this was going.</p>
<p>“But the problem was, I was kind of an ordinary looking kid and teen. I had braces and glasses and my hair was that “halfway between curly and straight so it was just poofy” thing and I had no particular sense of style and I hadn’t figured out my sense of humor. So every six months or so, I would fall hard for someone and nothing ever happened. I got really insecure by the end of high school, and I put way too much emphasis on what guys thought of me, regardless of whether I actually felt anything for them or not.”</p>
<p>“I looked it up when I got to college. Apparently it’s pretty common --- seeking the validation of the male gaze. Side effect of the patriarchy. So even though I grew up and got contacts and developed actual self-esteem and figured out what the hell hair oil was and how to apply it and had attractive, smart, funny men interested in me, I still sometimes feel like that fifteen-year-old girl who tried to get Dan O’Leary’s attention the entirety of sophomore year and never managed to. So when I showed up to my assigned room and James was there, I wanted him to...notice me. And I thought that if I told you about him, you wouldn’t be comfortable with the situation and I would of course respect that and stop going and then I wouldn’t get those hits of dopamine when he talked to me.”</p>
<p>Matt frowned and opened his mouth. You held up your hands and shook your head. “I do <em>not</em> have any feelings for him. I want that to be absolutely clear. It would have been the exact same situation if it had been Steve or Tony or some random engineer. I made the selfish choice to continue seeking validation even though I knew I should talk to you about it.”</p>
<p>You stared at the ground and lowered your voice. “And I know this is pretty heavy talk considering we’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks, but a small part of me wonders if you could see every woman in the whole world, and see what a stunningly gorgeous person you are, if you still would have picked me.”</p>
<p>“So I am really sorry for being selfish and not telling you. I really hope I didn’t totally screw all this up.”</p>
<p>Matt let a long breath out. “I wish you would have just told me.”</p>
<p>You flinched. “I know. I’m really sorry.”</p>
<p>He moved to take your hand. “No, I...get it. I don’t feel great about it, but I get it. You tell me that I am attractive, and maybe I was even as a teenager, but I was blind. That came with its own set of self-esteem issues. And while I may not worry that you might find someone more attractive, there is a voice in the back of my head telling me you will want to find someone<em>whole</em>.” There was a world of despair clawing out of dark places in that last word. You wondered how often he had wished for his sight back. </p>
<p>If he’d ever begged God to grant it again. And what he’d promised in return.</p>
<p>“When I sensed you --- when I sensed that he was in front of you and there was no way I could get to you without going through him, I ---” his voice broke. You reached for his hand and held it as he swallowed, hard. “I would fight through all of New York City to get to you, but that doesn’t mean that I would win. And it was the Winter Soldier. You have no formal training so it was on me and I didn’t know if I would be able to---” You pushed yourself off the exam table and wrapped him in a hug. His arms locked behind your back as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.</p>
<p>You both stood there for a moment, not moving. </p>
<p>xxxx</p>
<p>Matt tried to ground himself in the feel of you: the scent of your hair and the rise and fall of your chest. </p>
<p>Steve had looked at him oddly after Matt had told him in no uncertain terms to explain exactly who the hell had been spending time with you. </p>
<p>“Bucky. I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”</p>
<p>“Bucky?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, Barnes.” came Tony’s voice from the other side of the room, where he had Rhodey in a headlock. “Surprisingly wrinkle-free for a World War II vet, broody, probably assassinated Kennedy?”</p>
<p>Assassinated Kenn --- “Are you telling me the <em>Winter Soldier</em> is here?” </p>
<p>“Yes, but he’s not the Winter Sold---” came Steve’s reply, but Matt was gone. </p>
<p>If he’d had his sight, maybe you wouldn’t be injured right now. He’d spared a second of thought to the oddness of the Winter Soldier pulling you behind him, shielding you with his body. Every other opponent would have used their hostage as a human shield, or a bargaining chip. </p>
<p>If he’d had his sight, maybe he would have been able to read the truth: that he’d been protecting you.</p>
<p>He was in uncharted territory with you. Elektra would have gone blow for blow with Bucky Barnes. And while Claire and Karen wouldn’t have had the physical skills of an assassin, it would have been the same bared-teeth defiance. </p>
<p>But you, you’d stepped between the two of them, to stop any violence before it happened. </p>
<p>
  <em>Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.</em>
</p>
<p>Father Lantom had often reminded Matt throughout the years to meditate on the sorrows of Mary, describing at length the Immaculate Heart of Mary with its seven piercing swords. He’d always assumed it was to remind him of the injustice of the world that must be borne, the same injustice that drove him to such fits of fury even as a child. </p>
<p>But now, holding you in his arms, it struck him that those sorrows were not just the product of an unjust world, but the known consequences of her own flesh and blood taking up the mantle of peace. </p>
<p>
  <em>For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.</em>
</p>
<p>Had Mary ever prayed to God to let Jesus grow up and grow old, find a wife from the neighboring village, to live out the remainder of his years watching the sunsets on the hills of Nazareth? </p>
<p>Had she understood what it would be to so fiercely love a peacemaker?</p>
<p>
  <em>He is the one who comes after me, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie.</em>
</p>
<p>Matt breathed in and out, listening to each beat of your heart.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>It took a week for the splint to become second nature. Not that it had been an easy process. Matt laughed the first time you’d gotten it stuck in your coat sleeve and exclaimed “<em>Ach du scheisse</em>!” while flailing around. </p>
<p>“Did I know you were German?”</p>
<p>Splint finally freed from the prison of clothing, you blew out a breath. “I’m not. I studied it in school. I always liked languages: German, French, Spanish, Italian. Anyway, I was a nanny the summer after my sophomore year at college and I decided it would be easier if I accidentally swore in German than if I swore in English. The three-year-old would be less likely to pick it up and even if she did, she would probably mispronounce it and no one would know who she got it from.”</p>
<p>“A solid strategy” he grinned.</p>
<p>“Hey, it worked.” </p>
<p>He kissed you, long and lingering. Your brain somehow quieted and sped up at the same time, and you pulled him closer with your non-injured hand, sinking your teeth gently into his lower lip. He groaned. </p>
<p>“You’re trouble, you know that, right?” he said around your lips.</p>
<p>“I am exactly the kind of trouble you want.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you have no idea.”</p>
<p>His hand slipped under your sweater and traced your ribs, one at a time. You didn’t know it was possible to feel the fire of nerve endings like that. Then both his hands molded to the curves between your hips and lowest ribs, fingers clenched. </p>
<p>You broke the kiss and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the nearby bedroom of your Tower apartment. It was late afternoon and the last of the winter sun was slanting through the floor to ceiling window. The clouds on the horizon looked like snow.</p>
<p>He paused in the doorway and cleared his throat.</p>
<p>“You know that I am not expecting anything ever, right? I would be perfectly content to just hang out and listen to you try to remember the name of the one actor in that one TV show even though you could easily Google it.”</p>
<p>“Okay, first of all: rude. I like analog musing about pop culture without the interference of omnipotent search engines. Second of all: absolutely. I also happen to know that if I am not able to get you in here in the next two seconds I will jump you in the hallway and we will end up on the carpet, superhero reflexes or no.”</p>
<p>His smile was revelatory. You felt the sudden urge to cry and laugh at the same time. What had you done to deserve this man? </p>
<p>Suddenly you were on your back on the bed and he was over you and you had never realized the athletic grace that he’d so carefully cultivated could be so damn alluring. You’d hardly felt your feet leave the ground. </p>
<p>His lips were on the crook of your neck and the juncture of your collarbone and his hands cupped your breast and brushed over and over and <em>ohhhhhhh</em>. </p>
<p>You arched your back and you were suddenly aware of every inch of him from his shoulders to his thighs. The scent of him was making you dizzy. Quickly, before you lost your nerve in the boldness of the instant, you ran your hand from his chest down, down, to the length of him. </p>
<p>He growled, you swear he growled, and the rush of that made you press harder. You felt fierce, cosmic. </p>
<p>Suddenly he pinned your exploring hand above your head. “Oh no, sweetheart, you keep up with that and I will be done.”</p>
<p>You wondered if your smile looked as wild as it felt. “I would love to see that.”</p>
<p>He groaned again.</p>
<p>“What we’re going to do is get that shirt off of you and you will describe in excruciating detail the lacy thing that I know you’re wearing underneath it.”</p>
<p>You blushed, suddenly slightly self-conscious. </p>
<p>xxxxxxx</p>
<p>He sensed the shift in your heartbeat, the change of tone in the room and pushed himself off of you. </p>
<p>He’d gotten caught up in how crazy you made him feel and he’d forgotten the promise he’d made: to let you take this at your own pace.</p>
<p>“Shit, forget that. Really.”</p>
<p>You shook your head. “No, I liked when you...took charge.” The tone of wonder in your voice made the heat pool low in his abdomen. He’d had no idea how intoxicating it would be to watch someone discover their sexuality in real time.</p>
<p>“It’s just --- oh God this is embarrassing -- I got self-conscious because this is the first super lacy thing I ever bought and I wanted you to really, really like it and I just stood in the store for an hour trying to figure out what to get and Matt some of the things I didn’t even know how to get on.” You were rambling. The heat pouring off your cheeks could be felt from a foot away.</p>
<p>He kissed you, softly. “Okay, first of all, the thought of you in a lingerie shop trying to figure out what to wear makes me want to lock the door and keep you in this room for at least the next three days. But setting that aside, I know that no matter what you are or aren’t wearing, you are stunning. And I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I am not able to tell you exactly how the sun catches the color in your hair, or how well a dress brings out your eyes, but trust me when I tell you that the touch of you makes me feel things I’ve never felt before.”</p>
<p>You smiled.</p>
<p>Slowly, he peeled the sweater off of you, careful to not snag it on your splint, and traced the edges of the bralette underneath. The delicate edges snagged gently on the rough pads of his fingers. Surely he was not worthy of this.</p>
<p>You took his hand and guided it under the edge of the lace. “Please. I need you to touch me.”</p>
<p>He’d never been more happy to comply with anything in his life.</p>
<p>An hour later, you were dozing in the circle of his arms. His shirt had been lost somewhere along the way as well, and he decided that the feel of the skin of your back against his chest bested even the sensation of his silk sheets back in his apartment.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I figured it was time for an all-Matt chapter. Thank you for the kudos and comments!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> Put your head, darling, darling, darling,<br/>Your darling black head my heart above;<br/>O mouth of honey, with thyme for fragrance,<br/>Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?</p>
  <p>O many and many a young girl for me is pining,<br/>Letting her locks of gold to the cold wind free,<br/>For me, the foremost of our gay young fellows;<br/>But I'd leave a hundred, pure love, for thee!</p>
  <p>Then put your head, darling, darling, darling,<br/>Your darling black head my heart above;<br/>O mouth of honey, with thyme for fragrance,<br/>Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love?</p>
  <p>- Samuel Ferguson, “Cean Dubh Deelish” </p>
</div>Bucky Barnes was avoiding you. It had been two weeks since The Incident and you hadn’t seen a sign of him.<p>Natasha had offered to teach you how to shoot a gun. You’d never held one before and the recoil made your teeth clench so hard that your jaw ached for a day afterward. </p>
<p>Natasha observed the target at the end of the shooting range without changing her expression. “Alright, go again.”</p>
<p>“Was that okay?”</p>
<p>She turned to look at you carefully. “Does it matter?”</p>
<p>An odd question. “Yes? I won’t know if I need to change anything if I don’t know if that was at least an okay attempt.”</p>
<p>“It’s about repetition. You have to shoot a thousand times before you’ve even gotten to a point where you can be corrected.”</p>
<p>Alright, so it was paying your dues at this stage. You buried the tiny part of yourself that had been hoping the Black Widow would turn to you, a faint trace of respect in her voice, to inform you that you were the most natural shooter she’d ever seen. </p>
<p>You didn’t even want to be a natural shooter. You just wanted Natasha to think you were cool. You’d have to figure out another way to demonstrate that.</p>
<p>“How did your last mission go?” Matt had showed up a couple of nights ago looking worse for the wear than you’d seen him in a long time, but with an air of grim satisfaction about him. </p>
<p>“Fine. It was an underground child labor ring. Took some more firepower to take them down than we’d originally thought, but we made it happen.”</p>
<p>“Do you enjoy the missions?” The question came out before you had time to think about whether it was rude.</p>
<p>Natasha tilted her head slightly. “Enjoy is the wrong word. It’s what I’m trained to do. It’s what I’m good at.”</p>
<p>You nodded. “Sure, that makes sense. I just didn’t know if you felt particularly good when it was  a mission like this, when you got to rescue children.”</p>
<p>“I don’t think about it as much as others might.” </p>
<p>Okay, so Natasha was going to be one of the tougher Avengers to crack. </p>
<p>You’d met most of them at this point. Pepper had been going over some workplace-related injury forms with you the day after The Incident, and Tony had showed up from what looked like an all-night mechanical engineering bender with a shit-eating grin on his face. </p>
<p>“Give us a warning next time we’re going to have a showdown of superheroes on the 72nd floor. I would have at least had JARVIS make popcorn.”</p>
<p>Pepper leveled him with a stare.</p>
<p>“What? You can’t blame a guy for being upset he didn’t even have time to place a bet. I mean, the Devil versus Immortal Assassin? I don’t think Vegas even has odds on that one.”</p>
<p>You didn’t know what to say. Tony Stark left you tongue-tied. You were pretty sure he had that effect on a lot of people, which was at least a small comfort. </p>
<p>Luckily, Pepper had no such qualms. “Tony, do you have something you need?”</p>
<p>“Nah, just came by to see the woman who nearly started World War III.” He was watching you as he said this. His eyes didn’t quite match the tone of his voice --- he seemed to be trying to get a read on you.</p>
<p>Turning his attention to the datapad in his hand, he walked out.</p>
<p>“Don’t take him personally,” Pepper said, turning back to her computer. “New people in his circle get him on edge, no matter who they are or how they got there.”</p>
<p>For the first time, you contemplated the fact that you were now in a circle that included playboy-billionaire-genius-philanthropist Tony Stark. Much too large of an idea to unpack now. Best put that away for later inspection.</p>
<p>The rest of the Avengers had been a little easier to talk to. Steve had come to check on you himself in your archive workspace that was now conspicuously void of the presence of James Buchanan Barnes. He’d asked how your arm was doing. </p>
<p>“Fine, thanks. How’s Jame--Bucky?”</p>
<p>Steve looked like he didn’t know how much to talk about his oldest friend. “Not great.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” You didn’t know how to interpret this. And you didn’t want to ask Captain America himself to be a messenger between you and him. “Thanks for letting me know.”</p>
<p>“Sure.” He shifted on his feet. “I have to go train now. I’ll see you around.”</p>
<p>“It was nice to finally meet you properly.”</p>
<p>He nodded. “Nice to meet you as well.”</p>
<p>Nothing could have prepared you for the natural phenomenon that was Darcy Lewis.</p>
<p>“Watch out people, scientist wrangler on the move!” you’d heard someone say loudly in the dining hall as you were finishing your lunch one day.</p>
<p>A curly-haired, curvy woman dropped into the seat across from you, setting down a cardboard case of to-go coffee cups. “Jesus, you’d think that being the only person who can get geniuses to remember to sleep would get some more respect around here.”</p>
<p>“Hi?”</p>
<p>“Hello yourself. I’m Darcy. We haven’t met yet, but seeing as you're the talk of the Tower right now I figured we should. I’m in charge of keeping Jane caffeinated, which my mother says is ‘a waste of my degree’ but she doesn’t know exactly how much they pay me to do just that.” </p>
<p>You were completely lost.</p>
<p>“Oh, right, you probably haven’t gotten the big tour of who’s who in this place. So I work for Jane, Jane Foster, Dr. Jane Foster I should say, because I think she has more degrees than you and I had Tamagotchis back in the day. Anyway, she is the truly beloved of My Dude with the Lightning, Thor. I’m also kind of in charge of making sure that Bruce and Tony follow a semi-human pattern of existing. Bruce is a lot more amenable to my ministrations, let me tell you. Tony keeps threatening to send me to a community college along with Dumm-E.”</p>
<p>You didn’t realize there were people in the world who had this much energy. </p>
<p>“Anyway, thought I’d drop by and say hi because you and I are probably the only ones in this inner hero sanctum who isn’t either superpowered out the wazoo or a genius.” She looked at you. “Although, maybe you are a genius? You haven’t come across my roster.”</p>
<p>You laughed. “I assure you that I am not.”</p>
<p>“Sweet. Another normie. Listen, I came by with a tiny favor to ask as well --- can you give this to Bruce?” She handed you a large coffee with what appeared to be a crudely drawn Hulk on the side. “Normally I’m all about that errand girl life, but Brucie is working on an entirely different floor of the building today and Tony has refused to build me a hoverboard.” She checked her phone. “Shit, gotta go. Thanks!”</p>
<p>She was gone, leaving you with the coffee cup.</p>
<p>You quickly made your way to your archive sanctum. “JARVIS, are you there?”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>“Can you tell me what floor and room Bruce Banner is working in? I have to bring him coffee.”</p>
<p>“Dr. Banner is on the 112th floor, the entirety of which is the lab. Would you like precise coordinates within that floor?”</p>
<p>“No, I think I’m good. Thanks!”</p>
<p>After a quick elevator ride, you found yourself in the lab. It looked deserted. Uncertain, you stepped inside. “Hello?”</p>
<p>No answer.</p>
<p>You wandered around a bit, careful not to touch anything lest you rip a hole in the space-time continuum. Finally, you saw a disheveled-haired man bent over a microscope. You cleared your throat. </p>
<p>He stood up from the scope and looked at you, seemingly a bit startled to see someone else in the lab. “Hi, can I help you?”</p>
<p>“Dr. Banner?”</p>
<p>“That’s me.”</p>
<p>“I have your coffee. From Darcy.” You handed it to him.</p>
<p>He caught sight of the Hulk drawing on the side and winced with a chuckle. “Yeah, this is courtesy of Darcy alright. Thank you.” He looked at you again, clearly uncertain as to who you were. </p>
<p>You quickly introduced yourself, realizing you’d never had to categorize your relationship with Matt out loud up until this point. “I’m...with Matt, Matt Murdock. He’s been helping the Avengers out.”</p>
<p>“Oh, of course. Matt has been a real asset the last couple of missions.” He squinted slightly, as if remembering something. “How’s your arm? I heard you got caught in a tricky position there.”</p>
<p>“It’s healing well, thanks.” You held up your splint. “Luckily, it’s my non-dominant hand. Although it has not made typing easy the last week or so, let me tell you that.”</p>
<p>He laughed a little. “I bet. Well, I hate to be rude, but I’m in the middle of an experiment here and if I get derailed it’ll take forever to re-run.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I totally get it. Nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>xxxxxxxx</p>
<p>The text had read “I’m taking you out tonight at seven. See you then xoxo”. It was 11am on a Saturday. Well, there went the rest of your day.</p>
<p>You took out every article of clothing you owned, tried it on, discarded it, and tried it on again. By the time seven o’clock came around, you’d finally settled on an outfit, curled your hair, and attempted winged eyeliner. You thought a little guiltily that you were glad Matt was blind so he wouldn’t be able to see it was a bit crooked.</p>
<p>He showed up at your door with flowers and a grin that would melt the snow outside. “I figured it was about time that I took you out properly.”</p>
<p>“I was just wondering when it would come to you locking me up in the attic, Victorian-novel-style.” you answered with a kiss on his cheek.</p>
<p>He caught your chin with his hand and leaned in for a full-on kiss that left your heart racing. Your hand went to his side, tracing his oblique down to his hip bone. He broke off the kiss, breathing harder.</p>
<p>“Okay, we have to leave now before I decide it’s a much better idea to just stay in.”</p>
<p>As you walked to the restaurant, hand tucked in Matt’s arm, you realized that it had been several weeks since you’d left the Tower. You thought about what you’d learned about Edinburgh, Scotland in an urban history class in college: how the poorer residents of Old Town in centuries past had lived in an essentially underground world built below the bridges and high buildings, and would go weeks without seeing the sun.</p>
<p>You looked at Matt and thought about generation after generation of his family living in the same area of the same city. “What does it feel like to be so tied to Hell’s Kitchen?”</p>
<p>He was getting used to your seemingly random bouts of curiosity, telling you laughingly that you had more questions than any District Attorney he’d ever met. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean, I grew up in Oregon, but neither of my parents are from there, they’re from Ohio, and their ancestors were from Massachusetts and Virginia and Maine and all over. You’d have to go back at least five or six generations beyond that to get to a time where any branch of my family was in one town for a long time. We’re a bunch of wanderers. I was wondering what it was like to have your whole family be from one place for ages”</p>
<p>He thought about it for a few seconds. “It’s both comforting and frustrating at the same time. You know where you’re from, and you can make it your whole identity if you want --- I know plenty of people whose whole persona seems to be ‘Hell’s Kitchen born and bred’. You experience the change a lot more acutely than I would imagine a more recent resident like you would. But it also feels familiar in a way that nothing else could. I know that my father and grandfather and so on walked the exact streets that I do.”</p>
<p>“Is that the reason you feel driven to protect it?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think it’s the only reason, but I can’t imagine feeling so protective of a specific geographic location without that kind of history. Then again, I haven’t known any differently.”</p>
<p>You looked up at the buildings. “I’d love to imagine my great-great-grandchildren walking the same streets I do. Gives you hope.”</p>
<p>He smiled. “Gives you an anchor, as well.”</p>
<p>The restaurant was a small cafe with candles at each table and a beautiful exposed stone wall running the entire length behind the bar. Matt held your chair out for you and brushed a hand over your shoulder as he went to sit down himself.</p>
<p>The waiter brought over the wine you had both ordered and taking a sip, you looked at Matt. “Can I ask you a question?”</p>
<p>“Anything.”</p>
<p>“What drew you to me?”</p>
<p>“Your light.”</p>
<p>You looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>He laughed. “You would leave your door open. You always said hi to the mailman when he dropped off the mail, ask him how his kids were doing. You gave a couple of dollars every day to the homeless woman on the corner. You got Foggy and Karen and I Christmas presents, even though you’d only known us for a few months. You treated everyone you met with respect, even when they didn’t deserve it. And it wouldn’t have occurred to you to act in any other way. I don’t know if you even understand how rare that quality is.”</p>
<p>You blushed. “Matt, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”</p>
<p>“And every word of it the truth.”</p>
<p>xxxxxxxx</p>
<p>Steve walked into the room where Bucky was methodically cleaning his weapons.</p>
<p>“Buck, you can’t just avoid her forever.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I should be taking advice about dames from Stevie Rogers, punk.” The smallest twitch of the side of Bucky’s mouth took the sting out of his words.</p>
<p>“I’m serious. She’s a good person. She deserves better.”</p>
<p>Bucky slammed his hand down on the table, his mood shifting in an instant. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know that someone who showed me nothing but kindness when she had no reason to deserves a hell of a lot better than being injured by this?” He gestured in frustration to his metal arm.</p>
<p>“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. We all saw the tapes.”</p>
<p>“You all saw the --- are you telling me that you reviewed me like a kind of lab rat?” The words were more vicious than Bucky had intended. He felt sick, imagining the Avengers teams watching the reels for weaknesses, like Hydra had.</p>
<p>Steve put up his hands, knowing that he’d hit a nerve. “No, Bucky, it wasn’t like that. We had the footage pulled up as we were trying to get there fast enough to pull Matt off of you before things got ugly.”</p>
<p>Bucky’s face twisted in a grimace. “Too bad things got ugly anyway.”</p>
<p>“Bucky, you have to talk to her.”</p>
<p>The former assassin sat rooted in place in silence for a full minute. “What if she hates me, Stevie?”</p>
<p>“If she’s anything like I think she is, I really don’t think that’s possible.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lady Muse took a while to get back to me this time. Hope you enjoy! Thank you as always for the kind words, comments, and kudos.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>St. Michael the Archangel, <br/>defend us in battle. <br/>Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. <br/>May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, <br/>and do thou, <br/>O Prince of the heavenly hosts, <br/>by the power of God, <br/>thrust into hell Satan, <br/>and all the evil spirits, <br/>who prowl about the world <br/>seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.</p>
  <p>- Prayer to St. Michael the Archangel </p>
</div>“Bride of Lucifer, have I got some good news for you.”<p>You almost spit out your coffee. Darcy, who was sitting across from you yet again at the dining hall lifted one eyebrow at Tony Stark, who was standing next to both of you, smirking. </p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure sexual harassment is buried in there somewhere. She needs to sue you now for all you have and then she can take me to Fiji like you never have.”</p>
<p>“Lewis, first of all, I said you could take the quinjet to the tropical paradise of your choice if we made it through twelve months without an alien invasion. Which, guess what, hasn’t happened yet. Secondly, the title of Bride of Lucifer is slander at the worst, considering she hasn’t actually tied the knot with Beelzebub.”</p>
<p>“What news?” you asked.</p>
<p>“The two charming Eastern European gentlemen have been handled. Won’t be bothering you anymore. That means you are free of the Tower, Rapunzel. You can go back to slumming it in Hell’s Kitchen.”</p>
<p>You put your fork down. Anatoly and Vladimir, out of the picture. Even though it had only been a few weeks, it seemed like a lifetime ago that you packed a bag and showed up in the lobby of Stark Tower. It seemed anticlimactic, somehow, hearing these words as dozens of Stark Industry employees streamed past with salads and wraps in hand.</p>
<p>You wondered how long it would take before you stopped looking over your shoulder.</p>
<p>Darcy raised her glass in a toast, “Dude! Congrats! Your stalkers are officially no más. This is a reason to celebrate. We’re going out tonight.” </p>
<p>“Tonight?”</p>
<p>“No, nope, you can’t talk your way out of this one. I won’t let you. It’s not every day that major mafiosos are taken out on your behalf. A girl’s gotta celebrate.”</p>
<p>It was Friday. And you hadn’t left the Tower except for the one date with Matt last week. </p>
<p>“Fine.”</p>
<p>“Well, don’t have too much fun, both of you. Jail is a lot less fun than people make it out to be.”</p>
<p>Darcy waved her hand, not paying attention to Tony. “Listen, this’ll be great. I’ve been dying to go out. Jane’s always Science Science Science, and when the big guy is here, he is loads of fun but he has to drink this god-tier mead that, let me tell you, is the only thing that gets Steve Rogers’ star-spangled ass drunk. That’s a sight you need to see. He called me dame. He sent me flowers the next day to apologize for ‘behaving like a cad.’ That’s right, I got an entire 1940s relationship compressed into twelve hours. Peggy Carter who? I’m going to tell my grandkids about that one.”</p>
<p>You felt like you couldn’t exactly blame Steve --- Darcy did look like a dame, a femme fatale ready to either break your heart or slice it out.</p>
<p>“Okay, you’ve convinced me. What time?”</p>
<p>xxxxxx</p>
<p>Matt didn’t have a good feeling about this. He couldn’t point to anything in particular, just a whisper of unease in the back of his mind.</p>
<p>He kept it to himself, though. You seemed so excited, and he mentally kicked himself for not realizing how much time you’d actually spent in the Tower without going out to the city. First chance he gets, he’s going to take you for a long weekend away. A cabin upstate, maybe, or a train ride down to somewhere warmer. The delight in your voice when you described taking trains to Boston and D.C. after moving here had surprised him. </p>
<p>(“You don’t understand, <em>no one</em> takes the train in the Northwest. I mean, yeah, there is technically one between Portland and Seattle, but my family only took it once and that’s ‘cause our car got stolen in Seattle.”)</p>
<p>“Where are you going?”</p>
<p>“Some bar called The Lucky Oyster. Darcy swears they have the best martinis for cheap.”</p>
<p>“Well, have fun.” He leaned down and kissed your cheek.</p>
<p>“Thanks! I’ll text you when I’m headed back.”</p>
<p>And then you were gone, the scent of gardenias lingering after you. Matt settled in for an evening of reading.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>Okay, this was great. You didn’t understand why you didn’t go out for $7 martinis every Friday night.</p>
<p>“So we just are in the desert, right? And BAM Jane hits him with her car. And I jump out all commando-style and see this hot dude who maybe is going to kill us. So I tase his ass. Guess they don’t have those on Asgard because dude goes <em>down</em>.”</p>
<p>“I still can’t believe you tased the God of Lightning. There’s something poetic about that.”</p>
<p>“Alright, yeah, but enough about me. Tell me about Tall, Blind, and Sexy. How did you land him? Because as much as I love me a good ‘don’t need no man’ phase, this one has gone on for a little too long, if you know what I’m saying.”</p>
<p>You laughed. “What do you want to know?”</p>
<p>“Does knowing Braille make him really good with his fingers?”</p>
<p>“DARCY!” </p>
<p>“What, you can’t blame a girl for being curious! I’m pretty sure Thor has some kind of demi-god dick energy based on the blissed-out look on Jane’s face after he true love comes a-callin’”</p>
<p>You snorted, and swirled the olive in your drink. “To be honest, I don’t know. We haven’t really...gotten that far.”</p>
<p>Darcy nodded. “Taking it slow. Respect. Nana Lewis would be proud of you. Except for the fact that he’s Catholic and she would honestly rather me bring home an atheist than a Catholic. ‘At least I’d be able to make latkes for my heathen grandchildren,’ she says.”</p>
<p>You paused, taking another sip of your drink. You hadn’t really considered the implications of Matt’s Catholicism yet. You knew that he went to Mass, went to confession, and seemed very close with his childhood priest. Would he want you to attend Mass? Convert? Would you want to? You stopped yourself --- it was way too early to be thinking about any of these things.</p>
<p>“So you’re Jewish?”</p>
<p>Darcy nodded. “Like, unbelievably so. I’m pretty sure it’s an unbroken lineage straight back to Moses.”</p>
<p>Neither of you had noticed the man sitting a couple tables away, ostensibly engrossed in his phone but looking over at both of you periodically. He softly drummed the table with his fingertips, and looked over at another man, sitting even further away, half in the shadows at the back of the bar.</p>
<p>This shadowy figure slowly shook his head, and the first man got up, left money on the table, and slipped out of the bar unseen.</p>
<p>You’d lost count of the drinks you’d had, but you remembered to text Matt on the way home. You weren’t sure how many words you’d misspelled in doing so, but you’d remembered to do it! That was something to celebrate. </p>
<p>Darcy waved goodbye to you as you got out of the Lyft and made your somewhat unsteady way into Stark Tower. You swiped your keycard to summon the elevator and became momentarily fascinated by the lights of the entryway chandelier, so much so that you almost missed the elevator when it actually arrived.</p>
<p>Finally, you were back on your floor and in front of your door and unlocking it.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>Matt looked up from where he was lying on the couch, book in his lap. </p>
<p>“Hey there, gorgeous!” you giggled.</p>
<p>He smiled a little and got up, catching the shoulder of your injured arm as you leaned down unsteadily to pull your shoes off one at a time. “I take it you had a good time?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Absolutely. Why don’t I do this more often?”</p>
<p>“I feel like the headache you’re going to have tomorrow will remind you why.”</p>
<p>You reached up to touch the side of his face. “Silly, you forget that I am but a youth. I will awake as fresh as a daisy and ready to run a 10K.”</p>
<p>He sighed, “You have a way of making me feel like a lecher when you say things like that.”</p>
<p>You waved your hands. “Dude, I am going to help you work through that particular psychological barrier if it’s the last thing I do.”</p>
<p>“You’re starting to sound like Darcy, love.” The nickname felt right. </p>
<p>“Oh man, I wish I could <em>look</em> like Darcy. Have you seen her curves? Proper pinup.”</p>
<p>He frowned. “You don’t really mean that.”</p>
<p>You nodded. “You’re right, I don’t. I know that I am a total catch. Oh, but speaking of Darcy, she wants to know if you’re really good with your fingers because you know Braille.”</p>
<p>The blood rushed to his ears with a roar, two spots of red appearing high on his cheekbones. “Darcy needs to mind her own damn business,” he muttered.</p>
<p>You were on your way to the kitchen to get some water. “You’re going to have to speak up, not all of us can hear the next block over.”</p>
<p>“Oh, it was nothing.”</p>
<p>Having successfully hydrated, you returned to the living room. “But seriously, we haven’t talked about some things. Like, what you’re into, sexually.”</p>
<p>Matt choked. “Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“Like, even though I haven’t done much, I definitely know some things. And not, like, just from the internet. I did a minor in gender and sexuality in college and we studied sexual expression starting in the medieval period. I mean, it was super Western-centric but it still covered a lot of ground.”</p>
<p>Matt’s ears were ringing. He was way too sober for this conversation.</p>
<p>“Anyway, I’m not really sure what I’m into yet, but I’d like to find out. And I want to figure out how to be really good at whatever you’re into.”</p>
<p>He swallowed. “I think this is probably not the right time to have this conversation.”</p>
<p>You tilted your head at him, a little confused, before brightening. “Oh, you want to show me!” You’d grabbed his hand and pulled him into the bedroom before he could explain that was exactly <em>not</em> what he was intending.</p>
<p>And suddenly you had pushed him on the bed and, fucking hell, he’d let you, just like he let you settle yourself on him as he tried to mentally recite Cicero’s orations, the Apostles’ Creed, old law cases. Anything to keep him from focusing on the sudden aching hardness that you’d coaxed out of him with your delicious, distracting shifting.</p>
<p>Finally, he had to reach up and gently pull you off of him, feeling bereft of your warmth and berating himself for letting it get even that far. </p>
<p>The air shifted. Even your heartbeat seemed uncertain and small.</p>
<p>“Listen to me,” he took your chin in his hand. “There are far too many things that have happened in the past fifteen minutes to address them all, but I want you to know, first of all, that everything and anything that we do together will be exactly what I want. And second of all, I am stopping this right now not because I don’t want you, because believe me when I say that I would love nothing more than to take you right now and here.” Your heart pounded once, twice. “But you are very drunk right now and I will never touch you when you are like that, not when there is even the slightest possibility that you aren’t entirely in charge of your own actions. I was serious when I said that this,” he gestured between the two of you, “is starting off on rockier territory than most in terms of a power dynamic. I’m not going to do anything to tip that scale.”</p>
<p>Your voice was subdued, “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “No, you’ve nothing to be sorry for. Do you know how flattering it is to have a beautiful woman walk in the door and immediately try to get you into bed?” </p>
<p>You laughed a little shakily. “Thank you, Matt. You’re a mensch.”</p>
<p>“Okay, now you really sound like Darcy.”</p>
<p>xxxxxx</p>
<p>You woke up the next morning, bleary-eyed with your mouth tasting of cotton. While it wasn’t the dire straits that Matt had predicted for you last night, you definitely weren’t going to be running a 10K. </p>
<p>Coffee. You needed coffee.</p>
<p>You rolled over in bed and registered for the first time the solid form of Matt sleeping beside you. He’d never slept over before. You remembered your conversation from last night and winced. $7 martini night was definitely not looking as great the morning after.</p>
<p>Curious, you checked under the sheets and laughed a little. Matt had taken his dress shirt off but kept his undershirt and the rest of his outfit on, khakis and all. What a gentleman. </p>
<p>You took full advantage of having your paramour (did he count as your paramour if you hadn’t had sex yet?) over by slipping on his shirt before heading bare-legged to the kitchen for that sweet, life-giving bean juice. Luckily it fit over your splint. You squinted at the clock on the way. 11am. </p>
<p>The knock on your door startled you. Without thinking about it, you opened the door to find yourself staring at Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, who took one look at you before fixing his eyes firmly on the ceiling. </p>
<p>“James?”</p>
<p>Bucky coughed slightly, still determinedly not looking at you, clearly thrown off his game by your appearance. </p>
<p>“<em>Shit!</em> I forgot what...I just got up...haven’t had caffei--”</p>
<p>You heard Matt appear behind you, summoned by your minor outburst. “Is something wron--” You felt him stiffen as he sensed who was standing at the door. “Barnes. What the hell are you doing here.”</p>
<p>xxxxxx</p>
<p>To say Matt was mad was an understatement. He’d had some of the best sleep that he could remember, one of your arms thrown across his chest as if trying to pin him to the bed and never let him leave.</p>
<p>And then he’d heard you answer the door and you didn’t sound right and he was instantly in fight mode. He wondered if he’d always been this quick to shift, or if this was courtesy of you, and his very-much-deepening feelings for you. </p>
<p>“Matt,” you whispered, grabbing his hand, “I have to go change.”</p>
<p>“What?” He was confused.</p>
<p>“Matt,” your whisper got even lower. “I’m only...I’m just wearing your shirt.”</p>
<p>Oh. <em>Oh</em>.</p>
<p>You disappeared into the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind you. Matt turned his focus back to Bucky.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t looking, I swear.”</p>
<p>Matt’s tone was icy. “It’s not the 1940s anymore, Barnes, I’m not the one you should be apologizing to if you were.”</p>
<p>“I only came to talk.”</p>
<p>Matt’s lips thinned. “I believe you. But I also need you to listen very carefully to me. If you do anything, and I mean <em>anything</em>, to put her in danger again, there is nowhere in this city you’ll be able to hide.”</p>
<p>Bucky was silent for a moment. “I understand.”</p>
<p>xxxxxxxx</p>
<p>Your fingers fumbled through the shirts hanging in your closet. Of <em>course</em> he’d avoided you for weeks and weeks and the one morning where you are both hungover and have an overnight guest still here, he shows up. </p>
<p>What is it your grandma used to say? The universe’s timing is always impeccable, but rarely in the way you want it to be.</p>
<p>Finally having found a semi-respectable outfit, you emerged from the bedroom to find the men still standing on either side of the open door in an uneasy detente. </p>
<p>Matt spoke first. “I’ll go grab us breakfast. Poppyseed bagel, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, extra schmear.”</p>
<p>He dropped a kiss on your cheek. “Of course.” He left.</p>
<p>You turned back to Bucky. “Thanks for coming by, I really appreciate it. Would you like to come in?”</p>
<p>Bucky nodded and stepped inside, suddenly seeming uncertain. </p>
<p>“Tea?”</p>
<p>“No, thank you.” His voice was rusty again. You wondered if he’d talked to anyone the last three weeks. </p>
<p>You gestured for him to sit. It felt odd to make such a silent entreaty --- it seems you’d already gotten used to Matt’s blindness.</p>
<p>He sat slowly and stared at the table briefly. “How…” he cleared his throat. “How is your wrist?”</p>
<p>“It’s healing well, the doctor says. I should get the splint off in a couple weeks now. I think it’s a similar injury to the one I got when I fell out of a tree as a kid.” </p>
<p>Bucky nodded. You both sat there in silence for a moment.</p>
<p>“I came by ---”</p>
<p>“You know I don’t---”</p>
<p>You both stopped. “You first,” you said.</p>
<p>He cleared his throat. “I came by to apologize. First for putting you in that situation, second for hurting you, and third for not having the ba--- being man enough to talk to you earlier. You were nothing but nice to me and you didn’t deserve any of that. I hope you can forgive me.”</p>
<p>You nodded. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. And I don’t think there’s anything to be forgiven. I know it was an accident, and of course it would have been hard to come talk to me, especially if you thought there would be a possibility I wouldn’t forgive you.”</p>
<p>He looked at you for a minute. “Steve said you’d probably say something like that. Said you seemed like a hell of a woman. High praise, too, coming from him. Only one other woman I know got that.”</p>
<p>You laughed and flushed a little bit. “Ah, that’s kind of him. Really, I’m just lucky. My mom always taught me the most generous thing I could do for others was to be understanding. A lot of people don’t have the luxury of either learning that or being able to act on it.”</p>
<p>“She sounds like a hell of a woman as well.”</p>
<p>“She is.”</p>
<p>You looked down at your hands, and then back at Bucky. “Did you hear that I get to move out now? The guys who were after me are out of the picture now.”</p>
<p>Bucky nodded. “Yeah, Steve told me about it after the last briefing. You going back to your old life now?” </p>
<p>You laughed. “I mean, as long as Matt’s thick as thieves with the Avengers, I doubt there will be anything ‘old life’ about it at all.”</p>
<p>A ghost of a smile appeared on Bucky’s face. “I bet.”</p>
<p>xxxxxxxxx</p>
<p>The man put down the phone he had been texting on and looked across the table. “We had her in our sights. Nabbing her then would have been the easiest thing I’ve done all week. What’s the deal?”</p>
<p>The man across the table leaned forward into the fluorescent light, a small smile on his face. “Ah, Alexei, always so impatient. Runs in the family. It’s the reason why Vladimir and Anatoly are no longer here. You have to wait until the pieces are lined up just so.” </p>
<p>Alexei shook his head, going back to his phone.</p>
<p>“I still think it would have worked out fine.”</p>
<p>“I am not interested in fine, I am interested in spectacular. And more than that, I am interested in getting my Asset back.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's amazing how sometimes writing one chapter just leads to another. Hope you enjoy!</p>
<p>Thank you especially to those who have left comments and kudos on the last few chapters --- izziisabouttoenditall, glow593, Ddmm, s9fie, Mara Santiago, aanxietyinspace, kaysmith82, and many more --- it's great to see how many people are discovering this fic.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> When night falls, plan to visit me. <br/>For I believe night is the time that keeps secrets best. <br/>I feel a love for you that if the light of heaven felt, the sun would not shine, <br/>nor the moon rise, nor the stars begin their nightly journey </p>
  <p>Come and see me at nightfall, the night will keep our secret. <br/>When I’m with you I wish the sun and moon never turn up and the stars stay put. </p>
  <p>“Untitled”, Wallada bint al-Mustakfi</p>
</div>"Here's a printout of the stretching exercises you should do twice daily for the next few weeks. If the wrist bothers you, come and see us and we will get you signed up for physical therapy."<p>It felt odd to be symmetrical again, but you were glad to be rid of the splint. The doctor entered the last few notes into your chart and wished you a good day. </p>
<p>You headed to one of the lab floors. Darcy had told to come see her right after your appointment. Emerging from the elevator, you saw her on a stool on her phone while Bruce and Tony worked nearby. </p>
<p>"Hey, you're splint-free! Quick, Bruce, turn into the Hulk so she can punch you to celebrate."</p>
<p>Bruce coughed slightly. Darcy hopped off the stool and headed your way. </p>
<p>"Not so fast, Lewis, you're on the clock here." Tony said without looking up from what appears to be some kind of holographic projection device. </p>
<p>"Hey, cut me some slack. I've been stuck in genius cuckoo land without anyone normal to talk to since she went back to the real world."</p>
<p>"I've been here at least twice a week for a month, Darcy" you protested. </p>
<p>"Yeah, and you know how long that is in Science Round the Clock time zone that I currently occupy? Once every 200 years. C'mon, let's go get lunch."</p>
<p>You hadn't realized how much you'd missed your apartment until you'd come back, fingers of your uninjured hand laced through Matt's. God, it had felt good to walk the streets of New York holding his hand. You’d wanted to turn to everyone who’d passed the pair of you and hold your intertwined hands aloft like a prizefighter. Matt Murdock had chosen you, kissed your lips, pulled you close in front of him while you watched the snow fall from the window, wrapped his scarf around your neck when you’d forgotten one, rested his chin on your head while you both were under a blanket on the couch listening to old albums --- the ones your dad had played for you growing up. </p>
<p>It had felt like your own private miracle.</p>
<p>You and Darcy settled into a corner booth at the cafe on the fourth floor of the Tower. </p>
<p>“Alright, fill me in on the latest,” you said.</p>
<p>Apparently, Jane had had a minor breakthrough in her research. (“Don’t ask me to explain it. I keep telling Jane to keep it to three-syllable words or less but she never does.”) Tony had gotten intrigued by the potential engineering applications and went on another science bender.</p>
<p>“So I walk in on Tuesday and the lab’s wrecked. Like, Puente Antiguo escaped more unscathed than this entire floor of the building. So I ask Tony what in the name of Thor happened, and he just goes ‘minor vortex.’ That’s all I get from him! ‘Minor vortex’. You can’t make this shit up.” Darcy took a long drink of milkshake.</p>
<p>“You need a raise.”</p>
<p>“I need an island vacation, is what I need. Just me and coconuts and four gallons of sunscreen. What’s up with you? How are you planning on living your best splint-free life?”</p>
<p>“Honestly I’m just excited to shower without a plastic bag.”</p>
<p>“Oh I bet.”</p>
<p>The two of you swapped stories for a half hour or so before Darcy got a text that made her eyes roll.</p>
<p>“Science shit, gotta go.”</p>
<p>You grinned. “Far be it from me to get in between you and science shit.”</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>Matt left the church, saying a few words at the church door to Father Lantom before heading back into the busyness of the streets. He had never been one to go to daily Mass, but he tried to during Holy Week. And while Holy Thursday never filled the pews the way that Ash Wednesday and Easter Sunday did, he’d always been drawn to the day of the Last Supper. </p>
<p>He went back to the office and finished up some paperwork before heading off to your apartment. It had been a couple of days since he’d last seen you and your absence was starting to feel like a dull ache in his chest.</p>
<p>You looked up from your laptop at the kitchen table when he unlocked the apartment. “Hey! You’re here earlier than usual!” </p>
<p>“Light load today. Foggy told me to take off to, and I quote ‘get some rest for once in your life, Murdock.’”</p>
<p>“That’s the Foggy we know and love.”</p>
<p>He grabbed your hand and pulled you up, leaning in to kiss you. You smiled against his lips, pulling him closer, fingers wrapped around the back of your neck. </p>
<p>Slowly, he backed you across the kitchen and up against the wall. He pressed into you, lips making their way down the side of your neck. Your pulse point fluttered, then pounded as his hand gripped the curve of your waist. He deepened the kiss as his entire world shrunk to the feel of you under his hands, the brilliant glow of your presence to his sightless eyes. </p>
<p>Was this what angels looked like, too bright and fierce for human eyes? </p>
<p>And suddenly the distance he had to lean down to kiss you was too much and he lifted you, pressing and holding you against the wall with his weight and his hands found the hem of your shirt. A sound emerged from his throat, low and aching, and he molded his hands against the soft skin of your waist, cupped your chest, brushed a thumb over your nipple.</p>
<p>You sucked in breath through your teeth. “God, please don’t ever stop that.”</p>
<p>He responded by pressing into you harder, the layers between your bodies too much. He pulled your shirt off --- hell, he practically tore it off --- and traced the lace of your bra strap, almost in reverence.</p>
<p>He could hear the smile in your voice. “Hey, no fair me being the only one half-naked here” and made short work of the long-sleeved shirt he had been wearing. He heard the intake of breath and knew what you were going to say a second before the words came out.</p>
<p>“Oh my god, Matt.” Your fingers carefully traced the scars, before pulling back suddenly as if afraid your touch would make them hurt as they did when he’d received them. “Do they --- are you ---”</p>
<p>Matt cut you off by pressing a kiss to your palm. “Please. This is not about that. Later, I promise.” </p>
<p>You nodded slowly. Matt could practically smell the pheromones and emotions pouring off you: lust, uncertainty, righteous indignation on his behalf for the injuries done to him by the less than savory elements of the city. </p>
<p>You spoke, low and definitively. “I am going to give you as much pleasure as each of those gave you pain.”</p>
<p>The reckoning in your voice was breathtaking for Matt to behold. He surged forward, capturing your lips and you returned the kiss just as fiercely before breaking away, grabbing his hand and leading him to your bed. </p>
<p>You pulled him onto the bed beside you, gently pushing him back onto the duvet. Seersucker, he could tell, a flare of anger mixed with despair that he could identify the fabric on touch but couldn’t see the heat in your eyes, the disheveled hair, the redness and slight bruising of your lower lip.</p>
<p>“Hey, you, you’re thinking too much again,” you said with a faint air of amused exasperation.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I ----” he meant to tell you it was a habit of decades, that both Stick and Father Lantom had warned him about it for different reasons, but his words cut off in a tangled gasp as you kissed down his chest, his abs, tracing your tongue along the strip of skin just above his jeans.</p>
<p>“Jesus, I thought you were a virgin.” Ah, fucking hell. He didn’t know where that had come from, prayed that you wouldn’t take offense. He hadn’t meant it like that, it was just…</p>
<p>You laughed a little. “Like I said, Murdock, virginity is a social construct. I didn’t spend all my college years in the library. Or, I should say, I didn’t spend all my time in the library reading.”</p>
<p>He hadn’t thought it was possible to get harder. He was wrong.</p>
<p>“Besides,” you said, tracing the left side of his abs in a way that caused him to shudder, “you make it astoundingly easy to be good at this, as I want to put my mouth on everything.”</p>
<p>That’s what did it. He flipped you, barely aware that he’d gone into full enhanced abilities mode to do so, he just needed for you to be beneath him, with one of his thighs pressed fully against the juncture between your legs, shifting in a way that caused you to gasp. </p>
<p>“Please. Keep doing that.”</p>
<p>“This?” Matt asked, pressing further while kissing you, a tangle of teeth and tongues. </p>
<p>The grip of your hand in his hair was electrifying. Your other hand worked its way down, unzipping him, divesting him of his clothes, until he was naked and you had him fully in your grasp. </p>
<p>He bit back a moan, thrusting instinctively into your hand like a teenager. Christ almighty, the things you did to him. He grabbed your wrist, stilling you.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“What?” The question seemed to be dragged from you in a fog of hormones and want. Dammit, the two of you hadn’t talked about this, hadn’t talked about any of this happening and now he wanted nothing more than to take you right here, right now but he didn’t want you having any regrets.</p>
<p>“We don’t have to do anything.”</p>
<p>He was pretty sure you’d arched an eyebrow. “I’d say we’ve done some things already at this point, wouldn’t you?”</p>
<p>He blew out a breath. “Please. I just want to make sure --- I need to know that you’re ready, that you’re choosing this, that you don’t think I pressured you.” He was so far out of his depth he couldn’t even sense the shore. </p>
<p>“Matt. I swear on my honor that you haven’t pressured me, and that the only reason I’ve waited this long is because I didn’t want our first time to be while I was wearing a splint.”</p>
<p>“You’re sure?”</p>
<p>“Absolutely.” With that, you took him into your mouth and his world went blank, then exploded. After a moment or two, he stopped you, breathing hard, wondering if he’d died and gone to heaven and this was his reward, or gone to hell and this was his punishment, the exquisite torture of your tongue.</p>
<p>“You have to stop or I won’t be able to.”</p>
<p>Your whisper sounded like bar smoke and pool tables. “Maybe I don’t want you to stop.”</p>
<p>“Angel, I have no intentions of stopping, I just want to make sure you are able to say my name when you come.”</p>
<p>You blushed and your heart faltered just slightly. He tilted his head and frowned slightly. “Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>You nodded. “This is going to sound dumb.”</p>
<p>“It won’t.”</p>
<p>“I know that I talk dirty and I really, really like to, but I don’t know how to handle it when you say it back.” You ducked your head and tucked a strand of hair behind your head, laughing a little. </p>
<p>He caught your chin. “I won’t do it if you don’t like it.”</p>
<p>“No, no, I do! It’s just --- it’s me, right? Who would want to talk dirty to me?”</p>
<p>“Every single fucking delivery guy who walks into our building, judging by the pheromones they give out.” It came out a touch more jealous than he’d meant it. He decided to not also mention the man he’d...persuaded to not hit on you one night at Josie’s. </p>
<p>“You’re joking.”</p>
<p>“I’m not.”</p>
<p>Your heart sped up. “Wow.”</p>
<p>His hand cupped the side of your head and he kissed you again, slow and hot. You reached down and undid the button on your jeans, wiggled out of them until you were both together, skin to skin. Matt knew he could die happy in this moment.</p>
<p>You shifted, slowly maneuvering under him until he was right...there. “Please, Matt.”</p>
<p>He pressed in slowly, stilling as soon as he heard a hiss of breath. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m fine, just --- give me a sec.” No force on earth could have compelled him otherwise.</p>
<p>You started moving slowly, experimenting, shifting in ways that made him swear he could see colors again. “Wow, that feels really good.”</p>
<p>“God, you have no idea.”</p>
<p>And then it seemed like you got used to the feel of him because you started to speed up, biting back moans at each thrust. He worked a hand in between the two of you, stroking you slowly, deliberately. “Matt. Yes. Matt.”</p>
<p>He would give anything for you to say his name like that for the rest of his life. </p>
<p>He felt you flutter and clench and that was it, he was gone, breathing hard, pressing you down into the mattress in a studio apartment in the middle of the afternoon on a street in Hell’s Kitchen. The rest of the world continued on outside as if the world hadn’t just shifted on its axis. </p>
<p>He was pretty sure he loved you, and he’d never been more scared in his life.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>I am your opus,<br/>I am your valuable,   <br/>The pure gold baby</p>
  <p>That melts to a shriek.   <br/>I turn and burn.<br/>Do not think I underestimate your great concern.</p>
  <p>Ash, ash—<br/>You poke and stir.<br/>Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——</p>
  <p>A cake of soap,   <br/>A wedding ring,   <br/>A gold filling.</p>
  <p>Herr God, Herr Lucifer   <br/>Beware<br/>Beware.</p>
  <p>Out of the ash<br/>I rise with my red hair   <br/>And I eat men like air.</p>
  <p>“Lady Lazarus”, Sylvia Plath</p>
</div>The two of you ordered Indian takeout and spent the evening listening to a podcast, the plot of which you wouldn’t be able to even remotely summarize. You were too fascinated by the feel and look of Matt’s fingers laced through yours. You remembered what those fingers had been doing mere hours before --- heat flamed your cheeks.<p>As if reading your thoughts, Matt turned your hand over and pressed one soft kiss to your knuckles. </p>
<p>“You keep thinking that hard, angel, I’m pretty sure smoke will come out of your ears.” God, had you ever noticed the blur and angles of his accent? How did everything about him seem so new? </p>
<p>“Just can’t believe --- you. I can’t believe that you’re here.”</p>
<p>He kissed the side of your head. “Yeah, me neither.”</p>
<p>What was the note in that statement, the one you couldn’t quite read?</p>
<p>xxxx</p>
<p>It was the nightmare that night that did it. </p>
<p>
  <em>Matt was in a windowless room, dark with a single spotlight. His stomach plummeted --- he could see again. His psyche had a nasty habit of handing over his worst nightmares with the added bonus of sight. A subconscious taunt.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>You truly want your sight back?, it seemed to say mockingly. This is what you would see.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He could make out a figure in the spotlight, tied to a chair, head lolling to one side, a steady drip-drip of blood onto the concrete floor. He couldn’t see any defining features but he knew it was you. It could only be you.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Suddenly, your voice rasped out, “Matt?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He opened his mouth to respond, to shout, but nothing came out. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Matt, how could you let this happen?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Matt, why haven’t you found me yet?”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Matt, please help!” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>The words cut him like a knife. He was paralyzed, unable to move an inch as a hooded figure suddenly appeared behind you, looming taller than any human, eyes burning red like coals…</em>
</p>
<p>“MATT!”</p>
<p>He startled into consciousness, aware in a split second that he was at your apartment, that you were sat up in bed next to him with one hand pressed to his cheek, trying desperately to wake him. He took deep, gulping breaths, trying to banish the image of the nightmare from his brain.</p>
<p>“Matt, are you okay?”</p>
<p>He shook his head. He didn’t trust his voice yet.</p>
<p>“Hey, everyone has nightmares. Totally understandable. Do you want me to make you some tea, or hot cocoa?”</p>
<p>“I can’t do this.” The words came out before he could stop them. Fuck. </p>
<p>“Oh, you don’t have to. I’d make the tea. You just stay here.” you said, misunderstanding him.</p>
<p>He flung the covers off in frustration and stood up. His T-shirt that he’d slept in was soaked through with sweat, and he tore it off. </p>
<p>“You don’t understand. I can’t do <em>this</em>.” He gestured between the two of you as if that explained everything. “I can’t do this to you. I’m not that selfish. I thought I could be. I thought…” </p>
<p>He choked, remembering the steady drip-drip of blood on concrete. He could have sworn it was real.</p>
<p>You swallowed. “What are you...saying? What did you dream about?”</p>
<p>The taste of bile suddenly flooded his mouth. Good. He needed the next words to be ugly for them to stick. “I can’t be with you anymore.”</p>
<p>He could hear your jaw drop. “What did you say?”</p>
<p>“I said, we can’t be together.”</p>
<p>A beat. Another beat. Then you got out of bed and crossed your arms and planted your feet. “Are you fucking <em>kidding</em> me right now?” He’d never heard you swear in anger before. Never witnessed your anger, period. “After me telling you in the street to get your shit together and stop following me if you were so goddamn worried about what our being together with me, you woo me and you...you <em>fuck</em>” Your voice cracked, nearly splintered “me and then you suddenly decide it’s over? Murdock, I knew you had issues but this takes the fucking cake.”</p>
<p>You were practically spitting. This was so much worse than he’d imagined. </p>
<p>“Please, just…” But you wouldn’t let him get the sentence out. You walked over to the front door of your apartment and threw it open. “Get the hell out.”</p>
<p>“No, you…”</p>
<p>“I said, get the hell out.” </p>
<p>He stood for a moment, contemplating his options, before grabbing his shirt and shoes and wallet and slowly walking the length of your apartment. He paused the briefest of moments on the threshold before stepping out. You slammed the door so hard behind him that he heard one of your downstairs neighbors yell to keep it down, didn’t you know it was two o’clock in the morning? </p>
<p>He almost made it far enough down the street to not hear you start to cry. </p>
<p>Almost.</p>
<p>xxxxx</p>
<p>You surveyed the caked-on mascara and dark circles under your eyes in the mirror the next morning. Definitely a day for extra concealer.</p>
<p>You ground your teeth as you went over for the hundredth time what had happened. Isn’t this what all your gender and sexuality classes at Barnard should have prepared you for? Toxic masculinity and the social premium on virginity and not letting people who turned out to be total fuckbois into your life? You groaned. Maybe it wasn’t too late to send back your degree.</p>
<p>Fuck Matt Murdock. And fuck his stupidly perfect hair and laugh and the way he made you feel like he was the only one in the room. Fuck his intelligence and how he could have been a hotshot lawyer anywhere but was determined to help those who needed it most. Fuck him for thinking he could have all that and then stomp all over your heart. And your dignity. </p>
<p>Oh man, your therapist was going to have a field day with this. She was a kind woman with a wickedly sharp intellect, all grey hair in a perfect bun. </p>
<p>“So you don’t get angry?” she’d asked at your first session, after you’d told her you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been mad.</p>
<p>You kept your anger buried deep, deep inside of you and denied it was there. Even though it felt like hot lava was coursing through your veins and the only way out was to scream or punch something. Like you’d been struck by lightning. Like you would be powerful only when you raised your voice or cut someone down to size. Probably like what fucking Christopher Columbus felt like when he claimed an entire continent for his stupid, feudal, white land. </p>
<p>You kept such good control over it and then yesterday, when Matt Murdock --- who got to be angry whenever he fucking pleased --- was deciding exactly what was going to happen in your life and you’d lost it. </p>
<p>You wish you’d said more. You wish you’d said less. </p>
<p>You went and screamed briefly into a pillow. Then you texted Darcy.</p>
<p>An hour later, you were picking at a scone at one of the myriad cafes inside Stark Tower when Darcy sat down across from you.</p>
<p>“Damn, you look like hell.” </p>
<p>One side of your mouth quirked up. Darcy was never one for beating around the bush. “Thanks. I look better than I feel.”</p>
<p>Darcy shoved what looked like the largest latte available in the Tri-State area towards you. “My caffeination skills are not limited to scientists.” </p>
<p>You took a grateful sip.</p>
<p>“So what did Tall, Dark, and Dingus do? What level of reaction are we going with? Spread rumors about him in the break room, or see how long he lasts one on one against the God of Thunder? Because we could totally sic Thor on him. Hmmmmm, or Natasha. She’d probably be really thorough. Bruce could flatten him into a tiny Devil pancake if you’d like!”</p>
<p>You shook your head. “Really not interested in any of that, Darce.”</p>
<p>“C’mon, I never get to use the Avengers to exact personal revenge. You can’t take this away from me.”</p>
<p>“Darcy.”</p>
<p>Her eyes got more serious and her face softened. Somehow, this was worse, and you started to cry.</p>
<p>“Hey, hey, he’s not worth it. I promise he’s not worth it. Superheroes seem like they’d be the best to date, but they’re the worst. Trust me, the crap that Pepper puts up with, I don’t know how she does it. Hey…” her tone took on a mild bit of panic as you sobbed harder. She stood up, sat down next to you, and put her arm around your shoulders. </p>
<p>“Hey, it’ll be okay.”</p>
<p>You sniffled. “It doesn’t feel like it will.”</p>
<p>She nodded. “Totally true. That’s what sad movies and ice cream are for. Can you take the next few days off? You can come hang out with me and we can watch the entire back catalog of Project Runway and talk about how much better we’d be at fashion design even though neither of us has ever touched a sewing machine.”</p>
<p>That sounded actually like something that would, if not cheer you up, at least make you feel less numb. “Yeah, why not? I just got paid for my Stark contract, so I could actually afford it for once.”</p>
<p>“That’s the spirit! Lemme just finish up a few things here and then we can head over to my place.”</p>
<p>“Are you sure? Can you take the time off?”</p>
<p>Darcy rolled her eyes. “The Freaks and Geeks will survive for a couple days without me. I’ll just restock Jane’s PopTart supply and have Jarvis order regular coffee deliveries.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Darcy, I really appreciate it.”</p>
<p>She waved her hand. “Don’t worry, this just means that you’ll have to pick my sorry ass up next time I make the fatal mistake of allowing a dude into my life.”</p>
<p>“Deal.”</p>
<p>Darcy left after you reassured her that you would be fine by yourself for an hour while she finished up tasks. With nowhere to go and nothing to do, you decided to go to the one place in the Tower that felt like yours.</p>
<p>You went to the lobby and stepped into the elevator. “Hey, JARVIS?”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“Did they rescind my restricted floor privileges?”</p>
<p>“You are still authorized to access the floors of both your residence while you were here, and the library where you completed the majority of your work.”</p>
<p>“Great.”</p>
<p>You punched into the button for the library floor and stared at the ceiling. </p>
<p>“Miss?”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“While I have no personal experience with human emotion, I have studied them extensively in theory and in observation, and can offer that whatever your feelings are currently, they will likely change at some point in the near future. To what, I cannot say, but all modeling points to the fact that they will.”</p>
<p>You smiled. “Thanks, JARVIS.”</p>
<p>The elevator dinged softly and you stepped out. This, at least, felt normal in a way that nothing in the past twenty-four hours had. </p>
<p>You opened the library doors, and then almost walked out again immediately when you saw who was in one of the chairs, reading a book.</p>
<p>“Bucky?”</p>
<p>He looked up. For the split second before he registered your face, he seemed calmer than you’d ever seen him before. Almost content. </p>
<p>That vanished as he took in your tear-stained face, the circles under your eyes, the wrinkles on the clothes you’d thrown on before coming to meet Darcy. In an instant, he was standing in front of you, eyes scanning methodically for injuries or other signs as to what might have happened.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>You sighed. “I’m not injured, I haven’t been attacked, don’t worry.”</p>
<p>He didn’t seem convinced, looking past you to the door where you’d walked in, alert for any potential assailants following. You sighed deeper --- you really didn’t want to get into this with Bucky. Darcy, with her no-nonsense attitude and understanding as a fellow woman of roughly what you were going through, was one thing. Dude who was born in 1917 and had been the tortured, brainwashed assassin of a terrorist group, very different. </p>
<p>“Matt dumped me.” Just saying it out loud made one of your hands clench.</p>
<p>Bucky frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”</p>
<p>You threw up your hands. “You’re preaching to the choir.”</p>
<p>“When he attacked me here, when he thought I was ---- that you were being injured, I could see it in him. He was terrified of losing you.”</p>
<p>You burst into a fresh round of tears. Bucky’s eyes widened in alarm. You swiped at your eyes in frustration.</p>
<p>“No offense, Bucky, but this isn’t exactly the kind of support I need right now.” </p>
<p>He nodded slowly, wary of any potential reaction from you, and then frowned again, more deeply. “If that’s what he did, he’s an idiot.” His accent was suddenly pure Brooklyn, as if the years between when he fell off the train and now had just melted away. </p>
<p>He stuffed his human hand into his pocket and stared out the window. “A dame like you doesn’t come around very often. He’s a real idiot.”</p>
<p>“Thanks. I appreciate it.” </p>
<p>He closed the book he was reading and cleared his throat. “I’ll just go then…”</p>
<p>“No, stay. Please. I don’t really want to be alone. Darcy will be ready to go in about an hour or so anyway.”</p>
<p>He looked unsure. “I don’t want to crowd you.”</p>
<p>“Please. Tell me what you’re reading about.”</p>
<p>He held up the book so you could read the title. <em>All the President’s Men</em>. “Figured I should catch up on some American history. You know what it’s like to come to and realize everything that’s happened? The atom bombs, Vietnam, 9/11. There’s been twelve presidents since...everything happened.”</p>
<p>You quickly tamped down the inappropriate urge to ask if he’d actually assassinated Kennedy. Poor guy had been through enough without intrusive questions like that. “I bet it feels like a lot. Is Steve catching up as well?”</p>
<p>Bucky snorted. “Punk’s more interested in figuring out what Motown music was and why no one wears a hat anymore. And something called crossfit.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, that sounds like something Steve Rogers would be into.”</p>
<p>You went to look out at the skyline. Bucky came to stand beside you, a little behind but still in your periphery. You wondered if he was even aware anymore that he chose the best defensive position in the room, or if it was pure instinct after 70 years. </p>
<p>“Sometimes I hate how astonishing this city looks from this high up.” You didn’t know where these words were coming from, exactly. “Like it could be the center of the whole world. It’s just --- I know what the underbelly is like, now. I’ve seen it. The underbelly has literally held a knife to my throat. But it still looks like this.”</p>
<p>Bucky didn’t say a word. The two of you stood for a long time, watching the shadows shift on the rooftops, the tiny shapes of cars frantically move back and forth, the ships in the water, until your phone dinged with a text from Darcy.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Finally mapped out the rest of this story, which made an update easier to write! Thank you as always for your kind words, kudos, and thoughts.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: I have no idea how tranquilizer guns work, and frankly I didn't look it up because I like how this played out. Thank you so much for the kind words, comments, and kudos!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>Nothing wants to suffer. Not the wind<br/>
as it scrapes itself against the cliff. Not the cliff </p>
  <p>being eaten, slowly, by the sea. The earth does not want<br/>
to suffer the rough tread of those who do not notice it. </p>
  <p>The trees do not want to suffer the axe, nor see<br/>
their sisters felled by root rot, mildew, rust. </p>
  <p>The coyote in its den. The puma stalking its prey.<br/>
These, too, want ease and a tender animal in the mouth </p>
  <p>to take their hunger. An offering, one hopes,<br/>
made quickly, and without much suffering. </p>
  <p>The chair mourns an angry sitter. The lamp, a scalded moth.<br/>
A table, the weight of years of argument. </p>
  <p>We know this, though we forget. </p>
  <p>Not the shark nor the tiger, fanged as they are.<br/>
Nor the worm, content in its windowless world </p>
  <p>of soil and stone. Not the stone, resting in its riverbed.<br/>
The riverbed, gazing up at the stars.</p>
  <p> Least of all, the stars, ensconced in their canopy,<br/>
looking down at all of us— their offspring— </p>
  <p>scattered so far beyond reach</p>
  <p>“Nothing Wants to Suffer,” Danusha Laméris</p>
</div>You heaved a sigh and picked up the phone, sending off a quick text back. Bucky was looking at you carefully.<p>You threw up your hands. “C’mon, Bucky, I know how much you hate when people look at <em>you</em> like you might explode.”</p><p>With the smallest quirk in the corner of his mouth, he replied, “I haven’t dealt with a broken heart since 1945. Cut a fella some slack.”</p><p>You had the sudden urge to ask J.A.R.V.I.S. if he knew how much a heart was worth. What was the price of so precious a thing that Matthew Murdock, Esquire, had crushed with a few  simple sentences? Maybe you could ask Tony to garnish Matt’s Avengers wages. <em>Alright, Beelzebub, that’ll be $2,000 a paycheck for the next 700 years.</em> That’d show him.</p><p>“What was dating like in the forties?” You weren’t sure where the question had come from, but you were suddenly curious.</p><p>Bucky pursed his lips, looking like he was mentally flipping through a yellowed scrapbook. “Pretty different, from what I’ve heard. Not that I’ve ever used Ember or whatever it’s called.”</p><p>“Tinder.”</p><p>“You know what I mean. We met dames at dances and on the streetcar. Stuff like that. Went to the pictures, broke curfew. Dragged Stevie’s ass to Coney Island. And then, during the war, we’d wear our uniforms on leave and always drank for free.”</p><p>“Sounds nice.”</p><p>He shrugged. “I mean, that’s just the good stuff. Sure as hell couldn’t date a Negro --- African-American? Or another fella. People got beat up or killed for stuff like that.”</p><p>“They still do, but I’m sure it was worse back then.”</p><p>“And if you got a girl pregnant, that was it. Married, tiny apartment for the rest of your life. Didn’t matter how much you fought, how bad it was for the kids. That was it.”</p><p>You wondered for a moment what Matt would have done if he’d gotten you pregnant. Clearly he wasn’t so Catholic to avoid sex before marriage (<em>in the afternoon light of your apartment, don’t think about it, bury it</em>). He also wasn’t against birth control. But something about the way he crouched down to talk to the toddlers around his block --- holding out his cane to let them feel it and explaining patiently for the thousandth time that not all blind people had a dog --- made you think that a child would be different. Life force created, the stuff of miracles. He’d want to marry you, in front of God and the whole world.</p><p>Or at least he would have, up until the point where he’d crushed everything. Stupid, stupid Matt Murdock.</p><p>You wished it actually helped to call him names in your head. Instead, your brain kept shifting back to the mental image of you walking down the aisle at St. Agnes, Matt at the end, Foggy beside him whispering into his ear as you made your slow way down the aisle, beat by beat. How if you whispered that you loved him, even from across the entire church, he’d hear you.</p><p>You really, really wished you didn’t love Matt Murdock.</p><p>Another ding. Another text from Darcy. <em>Are you wallowing? You know you’re not supposed to start wallowing without me.</em></p><p>“I gotta go, Bucky. Thanks for the company.”</p><p>He nodded. “Call me if you need anything. Hang on, I have my number here somewhere.” He fished a notebook that looked like it came standard with a G.I. kit out of his pocket. Thumbing quickly through the pages, he found it and read it off. You sent him a quick text to make sure you’d gotten it correct, and laughed as he pulled out what had to be the last flip phone in existence.</p><p>“C’mon, that’s the best Tony could give you? Doesn’t he own half the smartphone companies in the U.S.? I’m pretty sure he was drinking buddies with Steve Jobs back in the day.”</p><p>“First of all, I don’t like charity ---”</p><p>“Dude, I’m pretty sure the army owes you, like, 70 years of back pay. Spring for a refurbished iPhone, at least.”</p><p>“And second of all, I told them to give me the simplest thing they had. None of this newfangled crap. Not for my personal things.” he continued, ignoring your first comment. </p><p>You smiled. “Way to go, Grandpa, you cheered me up. I didn’t think it was possible, but the mental image of you shaking your cane at the youths and their smartphones did it.”</p><p>He waved his hand. “Get out of here. You remind me too much of Stevie sometimes.”</p><p>You stood up, grabbed your purse, and made your way to the door. “Hey, I’ve been called worse by better.”</p><p>xxxx</p><p>An hour later, you were firmly ensconced on Darcy’s beat-up sofa, faded quilt around your shoulders and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s in hand. “The Story of Us” blasted from every available speaker. </p><p>“Just let TayTay sing your pain, dude. It’s the only way. Do you want to hex him? There’s this lady who lives the next block over who told me she’d curse anyone, no questions asked, for fifty bucks. You do have to give her one of their left socks, though. Left, specifically. I told her, how am I supposed to know which one of them is the left sock, no one’s psycho enough to only wear certain socks on their left feet. But she was adamant, let me tell you. Also she only accepts payment in the form of Target giftcards.”</p><p>“Darce, I really don’t want to curse him.”</p><p>She waved her ice cream spoon emphatically. “You should. I passed him in the hall at Stark Tower when I was coming to meet you and I almost spit on him. Except everyone around wouldn’t have known the context and would have just seen a woman spitting on a blind man. And then suddenly I’m out on my ass for committing a hate crime on company property, when everyone should know that blind people are just as capable of being jerks as the rest of us.”</p><p>“You saw him?”</p><p>“Yeah. Like only for a second, because I couldn’t decide if you’d rather I glare at him or ignore him so I ended up just kind of staring past him.”</p><p>“What did he look like?” You briefly hated yourself for asking.</p><p>“Honestly? He looked like he’d been shot in the face. Walking dead.”</p><p>That shouldn’t have made you feel a tiny bit satisfied. But it did. </p><p>“If someone dumps you, he <em>should</em> look like that,” Darcy proclaimed, thunking the spoon down like a judge’s gavel. “Enough about him. This is about you. What are we starting with? Project Runway? Real Housewives? I even stole some footage of Steve and Sam training shirtless at the Avengers gym if we want pure beefcake.”</p><p>“You didn’t.”</p><p>“I 100% did. I’ve also got some stunning tapes of Natasha beating the absolute crap out of Tony. Tony thought he’d erased every camera angle of that incident but he missed one,” she crowed, dangling a hard drive between her fingers. </p><p>“Okay, let’s start with that.”</p><p>Three hours later, you’d watched all the Avengers tape and were halfway into Love Actually (“I don’t care if it’s April and I’m Jewish. This is an objectively perfect movie.”) when the doorbell rang.</p><p>“Oh thank God, the pizza’s here. I need me some cheesy bread. Can you get the door while I grab my wallet?”</p><p>You nodded, heading to the door and swinging it open.</p><p>“Hi ---” the words died on your lips as you took in the sight in front of you. Three men, clad head to toe in black.</p><p>You ran. You made it the five steps back to the couch as Darcy turned, her mouth dropping open.</p><p>“Motherfuc---” she breathed.</p><p>“No need for vulgarities,” the man in front said. His companions had closed the door and were standing in front of it, guns trained on you and Darcy.</p><p>Russian accent. Crap, crap, crap, damn it all to <em>hell</em>.</p><p>“I will use as many vulgarities as I goddamn want, you son of a bitch,” Darcy spat.</p><p>He smiled coldly. “Enough of that. Now, you can either come quietly with us of your own volition, or we tranquilize you and bring you in a sack. The choice is yours.”</p><p>Darcy didn’t even hesitate, flinging herself at the man with a shriek. She’s almost tazed him before the quiet hiss of one of the tranq guns went off. She slumped sideways, awkwardly half on and half off the couch. </p><p>The man then turned his eyes on you. “And you, <em>lyubimaya</em>, which do you choose?”</p><p>You couldn’t talk. It felt like you couldn’t even breathe. You stared wordlessly at Darcy’s prone form. </p><p>“Smarter than your friend, I see. No wonder the Asset chose you.”</p><p>The Asset?</p><p>“I’m not smarter.” Your voice was barely a whisper, coming from somewhere in between the smallest of your ribs. “I’m just not half as brave.”</p><p>The man snorted, gesturing at Darcy. “You think this is courage? This is foolishness.”</p><p>But you knew better. As you watched the two henchmen bundle Darcy up, as the leader made an “after you” gesture at the door, as you took one last look at the ice cream melting on the coffee table, you knew. Matt was brave. Bucky was brave. Steve was brave. Darcy was braver than all of them combined, given her lack of enhanced abilities and the fearlessness she’d just displayed. There were people who threw themselves off cliffs and onto grenades and into outer space and at bad guys even when there was only a third of a half of a one percent chance that it would work. These were heroes. </p><p>You were just an ordinary someone. </p><p>xxxx</p><p>Bucky had just gotten cleaned up after the next morning’s training and was in the process of cleaning one of his many guns when the phone rang. He flipped it open --- your name lit up the screen.</p><p>He picked up. “Everything okay?”</p><p>“First ring. Very prompt.” It wasn’t you.</p><p>His training kicked in immediately. He swiftly pushed a button under his nightstand that would summon Steve from wherever he was in the building. His eyes dated to the clock, noting the time. The accent on the other end of the phone was Russian, likely St. Petersburg.</p><p>“Who is this?”</p><p>“No, you don’t get to ask questions, Asset. Have you already forgotten? We’ll have to remind you.” Steve burst into the room at that moment, gun drawn. Bucky quickly gestured at the phone, signing your name and the phrase “Russian unknown”. Steve’s jaw clenched and he nodded, whispering fiercely to J.A.R.V.I.S. to start tracing the call immediately and to get the other Avengers here stat.</p><p>“If you’ve done anything to her, I will dismember you. Slowly.”</p><p>“Relax, your paramour is safe here. For now. So long as you hold up your end of the bargain.”</p><p>“What bargain?” Bucky’s voice was flat. Tony and Natasha had arrived by this point, Sam and Clint hot on their heels.</p><p>“A simple exchange. Her life for our Asset.” Bucky’s blood was ice, then fire.</p><p>“Tomorrow, noon. I will send you the location.” The line went dead. For a beat, there was silence in the room.</p><p>“Buck, we need details. Now.” Steve broke the silence.</p><p>Bucky turned and punched the wall with his metal arm, splintering studs and sheetrock, the smash echoing through the sparsely furnished room.</p><p>xxxx</p><p>Matt was in deposition when he got the text from Tony, read out to the earpiece in his left ear. <em>Stark Tower, ASAP.</em></p><p>He ducked out to make the call. “Stark, I don’t know what the hell your minions put up with but I’m not ---”</p><p>“Someone’s got her. We need you here. Now.”</p><p>Matt didn’t remember making his excuses to the judge. For all he knew, he told her that his mother had died. Anything to get out of that stifling room, anything to get to tearing this city to shreds until it gave up every one of its secrets.</p><p>He made it to the conference room at Stark Tower that he could already sense was the war room. Every Avenger was there -- Tony and Bruce speeding through what sounded like traffic cameras and street videos. Natasha and Clint seemed to be reviewing profiles of Russian mobsters.</p><p>“What the hell happened?” Matt’s voice lashed out.</p><p>“She and Darcy were abducted from Darcy’s apartment at approximately midnight last night. Three men, professional, in and out in less than two minutes. Darcy got tranqed in the process, she didn’t.” Natasha said.</p><p>Last night around midnight? “Are you saying they’ve been gone for almost twelve hours and this is the first I’m hearing about it?” They could be in Siberia by now.</p><p>“Barnes got the call less than thirty minutes ago.”</p><p>Matt was suddenly acutely aware of the fury pouring off Bucky in the corner. Bucky stood up, and shook off the restraining hand Steve had on his shoulder. “Murdock, the only reason you’re still standing is that we need every possible advantage to get her back.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Matt was suddenly itching for a fight, the cortisol tang of Bucky’s rage almost palpable.</p><p>“You have some fucking nerve. How many degrees do you have from the ivory tower of yours? And none of them gave you the brains to think that maybe you were done with her, but that didn’t mean that in the eye of every lowlife in the TriState area she wasn’t still the best target of the day? Or maybe you are as smart as they say, and you just didn’t fucking <em>care</em>.” Bucky spat this last word out like it burned. </p><p>Tony interrupted before it could go any further. “You are more than welcome to beat the crap out of each other on your own time, and let me tell you I will be the first to watch, but right now she’s gone and that’s all that matters. Get your heads in the game.”</p>
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